Checkmate
by Anla'shok
Summary: The train leading the tributes to the Capitol crashed. What happened? Why don't things add up? Will Mags solve the puzzle before it's too late or will she just be the Capitol's tool? A unique Games fic. Dark, fast-paced intrigue with a dash of humor. Mags' untold tale. Book 2 starts Ch26: Mags won and vows to orchestrate the second rebellion, no matter the cost.
1. War Child

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games premise, or any character, place or event you may recognize from the books.**

**IMPORTANT NOTE:**

**This story holds two books. The complete version of Mags' Games (chapters 1 to 25) and the WIP compilation of chapters of Mags' life between the 9th Games and the 75th. There will be Finnick, there will be Annie and there will be references to the previous book.**

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The breeze carried Esperanza's whimpers through the open window.

Mags could almost taste the fear of the reapings in the tangy summer air.

Her lips twitched, bereft of any trace of mockery. Fear of _Reaping Day_, the luxury of those born in peacetime. The Hunger Games were monstrous beyond words, but the seas, hurricanes and long winters claimed more lives every year, many more. Yet, manipulating the defeated district crowds like ice-hearted puppeteers, the Capitol had succeeded in instilling a fear so deep in the annual games of death that few would sleep soundly tonight.

True fear was when your fingers had grown too stiff and raw to hold a needle, unable to mend the tears in your clothes and shield yourself from the cold's bite. Fear was when you ate little despite your ravenous hunger because growing out of your shoes in the wilderness would mean certain infection and death.

Fear was for war and dark times.

Mags remembered true fear, the one that clutched at your insides and never let go.

In the deep of winter, as the tides of the rebellion had turned in the Capitol's favor, hovercrafts had poured chemicals in the ocean and burned the beaches, cutting off Four's supplies. The flames had swallowed the seas like rabid demons and had long outlasted the Dark Days.

Freshly eight, Mags Peregrine had been scouting with her father and his brother's family in a sturdy boat when the ocean had burst into flames. They had crashed on rocky shallows, blessedly unhurt but stranded on the side of the poisoned water, with precious few supplies and arid ridges as their only shelter. They'd learned to swim fast, to dismiss the scorch of acid burning their skins, and weave dried seaweed bags so tight they would capture rainwater. Medicine had healed her raw skin and wrinkled fingers and time slowly repaired her lustrous dark amber hair, but the sea had marked her. The taste of salt never left her mouth and no amount of restful nights erased the red hue to her green-flecked eyes.

There had been no adults and children in their harsh little world. Survival did not give the luxury of such distinctions. Eleven full moons had separated their shipwrecking from the day Mags had spotted a fishing boat heading for their barren island. Tightly holding her cousin's hand, Mags hadn't immediately recognized the beautiful woman on board nor the toddler squealing in childish delight as waves had splashed on her healthy round cheeks.

Angelites Peregrine had gone back to Angelites Abalone to avoid the attention husband's name might bring and, just as a helpless Mags had watched unmoving as the waves took her father from her, she accepted that the rebellion had failed and had stolen her last name. The war had taught her to accept many things. She had her mother back, and the tiny little sister she'd left behind had grinned despite how awful Mags had to have looked. Mags finally was safe, she was a child again. Nothing else had truly mattered then. The ragged trio of survivors had smiled as they stepped off the dreary rocks that had claimed the lives of four of their kin.

Her uncle had left with his son the year before, freeing the house next to theirs for a family of three that had been living under a makeshift tent. They had not been born in District Four but in One. Rebels to the core, the Peregrines had not hesitated to destroy all their earthly possessions to spring a trap on One's High Military Command. The rest of the rebellion had been one long guerrilla. Mags had been all of six when they'd hit the roads. She was a child of war.

Her uncle had fought and bled for District One. The nightmare of those ten months spent stranded, which had claimed both his wife and two daughters, had filled him with an unreasoned hate of the ocean. He had been a broken man without a home. No news of her uncle or her cousin Lazuli had reached Four yet. Mags fiercely hoped her kin had found something to rekindle the fire that had once burned bright in their eyes.

Mags remembered the grand warehouse where the tapestries narrating epic tales were hand-woven with gold and silver threads. Their family had been the keepers of legends as well as artisans of great renown. She held those memories dear, but Four, her mother's District, now owned her soul. The child had taken the hardships that had broken the adults in stride for she had known no other world. The sea had forged her and would never relinquish her hold.

Another badly stifled sob caused Mags to push the covers away and reach for the door. The rebellion was over and the war child had become Big Sis.

Caramel-eyed Esperanza was afraid of empty threats and shadows. Reaping Day was the worst thing she had to face. She was a child of peacetime. Mags' heart melted whenever she witnessed the sweet girl's frailty. She was perpetually awed by the existence of something so delicate. The seventeen year old never cried or shivered in fear; whatever trials she faced at home were nothing compared to surviving the roads and the poisoned sea.

Esperanza rubbed her eyes when Mags entered her room.

"You always smile when I'm crying, Big Sis. You think I'm silly," the twelve year old said, annoyance creeping into her hushed voice.

Mags' endeared smile bloomed into a full grin. She sat on the hard bed and gently wrapped her arms around the younger girl. "I hope you'll always have the luxury to cry at such things, Angel. You're exhausted, sleep."

"But this could be my last night here. I may have forgotten important things to say, or to do," Esperanza said, her insistent voice heavy with fatigue.

"We wouldn't have let you. Why do you think we keep you so close and are so nosy about your friends? We protect each other."

"Do you think Dad would think I'm weak?" Esperanza mumbled, more curious than afraid. Mags and Angelites had talked freely about the man when Esperanza had grown old enough to wonder. She had been too little to remember their mourning, too little to ever know true darkness.

"He'd be thrilled to see you like this. People who feel for small things are the happiest ones of them all."

"Reaping's not small, Big Sis..."

The child's protests died as she finally succumbed to sleep's call. Mags lingered, affectionately brushing her sister's long raven locks out of her face. Esperanza was so magnificently healthy in her innocence. Having never known true hunger or hardship, she would be shapely and fresh-faced whereas Mags was wiry and tanned, with fading pale thin scars riddling her every limb. The war child wasn't envious: Mags had been forced to sacrifice her carefreeness at an age at when most children struggled to write their names, but it had given her perspective. Nothing could taint the beauty of the days spend in the cocooning ambient of her wonderful family. Not even the Games, although they occupied her thoughts for very different reasons. Esperanza would be safe even was her named called in the middle of Lycorias'- the industrial main town of Four - crowded square.

She was unsurprised to find her mother waiting on her bed. The woman only feigned to sleep deeply to humor her daughter on her night escapades. Mags loved her all the more for it.

"You will volunteer." It was neither a question nor a reproach. Mags had made no secret of her recent training.

Her mother's words would have seemed unintelligible to any eavesdropper. Spanish, like any language other than English, had been outlawed long ago by the Capitol, for their overlords did not tolerate what they could not control. Speaking it was a crime punishable by death, just like traveling from district to district had become after the end of the rebellion. But even generations after the Cataclysm, few people from Four had forgotten their roots and whispers of old Mexico still echoed in the privacy of walled homes. It was the language of defiance and hope, the language that reminded Mags that the earth she was standing on had witnessed more years of freedom and peace than of Capitol dominion. The seventeen year old had inherited her father's hair and clear eyes but she owed a stubborn womanliness which had bloomed despite poor nutrition to her mother's genes. Even in District One, people had whispered of the beauty of Four's curvaceous women.

Mags nodded, sitting next to the older woman and inhaling her soothing perfume. The words of District One's first victor had stirred something deep in her. The lethal Vicuña Chrysaor had been a predator among condemned chickens and called herself a _Career_. Pride instead of terror had lit her fiery blue eyes as the Capitol proclaimed her the winner of the seventh Hunger Games. Vicuña had saluted the cameras where most other victors had wept in bitter relief.

The muscled blonde had changed the Games in a bigger way than any could have predicted. She had shown the Capitol that the tributes could be _interesting _and had been the first to receive medicine for her wounds in the arena_._ Instead of a walk of shame to the tower where they were granted a mockery of a chance at training, the tributes of the eighth Games had been paraded in front of the Capitol in great chariots and interviews had been organized to give them a chance to shine. Stylists had been hired for the interviews, sponsoring had instantly became a fashion and the tributes had swiftly learned to lie to curry favor. Those Games had been the biggest blow to morale since the end of the rebellion: the beastly Capitol invention had just become institutionalized. A Games-centered culture was appearing. Haunting whispers traveled the districts, carried by the very people who had bled for freedom during the rebellion, whispers that all their sacrifices had been for naught. The seventeen year old boiled in rage at the mere thought. She had to silence those whispers.

"I've survived more terrible odds," Mags said. "District Four needs a victor, not to condone the Games in any way but to give the children hope. Vicuña, no matter her ruthlessness and misguided fascination with the Capitol, is right. We should train. We shouldn't let the Capitol make us feel weak and, when the time comes, hundreds of trained citizens, young and old, will know what to do to claim their freedom."

"Vicuña wants children to make their lives about the Games. Those _Careers," _Angelites spat_, "_would forget all their parents have taught them, all we have fought for."

"Then I will make sure the children who train here do it in a way that makes them strong and weather life without breaking. There will be three glory-seeking idiots and foolish rebels for each true tribute, but it won't matter, Mum. It's the ones who will remain unseen by the Capitol, the trained ones who will have never taken part of the Games, _those_ will make the Capitol rue the day they unofficially gave us leave to bear weapons again."

"Tridents and nets against automatics?"

Mags shook her head slightly. They had already had this conversation, this was not about her motives. Mags knew that her mother, no matter how supportive, was viscerally terrified to lose her child. "Really, Mama, who cares if it's knives or grenades? Training is about discipline, about resistance and courage. It's about making you a fighter instead of a bitter and broken coward who dreams of ancient times."

"Mags, you may very well lose. There will be others who have trained, and for less noble reasons. There is always misfortune, or simply gamemakers meddling to have their favorite win, and where would that leave us? Your confidence is a marvel, but please don't turn it into your greatest flaw."

The young woman could see her mother was struggling to keep anger out of her tone. She swallowed, feeling the familiar scorch of salt in her perpetually raw throat. It only strengthened her resolve. Her family had sacrificed so much and gained so little; Mags could never accept defeat. She would have to kill and kill innocents, but the tributes would already have been marked for death by the Capitol. Mags had seen a lot of death. The Capitol was responsible for their pain, the Capitol had their blood on its hands. The Capitol had to be stopped.

"We live for the districts' freedom; we die for the districts' freedom," she recited, a burning flame in her green eyes. "The fight isn't over. I will live to see a second rebellion. I will win the Ninth Hunger Games."

Angelites' hands were crushing her daughter's, similar passion lighting her features, but her dark eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I suspect you will. I would have made the same choice. We cannot give up, not ever. I will make sure Esperanza doesn't feel betrayed." The woman chuckled. "She'll probably have planned an outrageously ostentatious welcoming party by tomorrow night."

Mags kissed the older woman's tanned cheek. Her mother's selflessness was the one thing that made Mags feel small and frail. She would never fail her.

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**Author's note.**

**The first chapter to a brand new fic that will revolutionize your conception of the Games. The T rating is for violence and horror theme.  
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**This is my take on Mags, I believe she should be very tough and that her childhood during the rebellion should not be dismissed. Mags is not only victor material but very 'durable' victor material xD. She will be more adult than a teen who grew in peacetime and relative comfort. Her reasons for volunteering are the ones of a rebel forced to work within the Capitol's rules, not born from dreams of glory. She has her own flaws and insecurities and those will appear later.**

**Discrepancies with canon on the pre-Games are intentional. The Capitol doesn't treat tributes as well during the train-rides/Capitol part as it does in Katniss' time. The tributes aren't 'stars' yet, this isn't a grandiose show (although it's becoming one as the years pass). They're seen as the offspring of the people who killed the relatives Capitol citizen lost during the Dark Days. The majority of the Capitol wants them dead even more than they want the entertainment.**

**Please review.  
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	2. Stranded

**Warning: violence and death. The longest chapter in Book One (most will be shorter by a third or more).  
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**I am using aimmyarrowshigh's Panem map as a reference, google it if you are curious. The chapter begins around modern day's Colorado Springs. Canon has placed the Capitol in Denver. If I write a geographical aberration that can't even be explained by centuries of cataclysms, PM me, I'll try to fix it.**

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Mags' eyes fluttered open. She rubbed her temples, feeling as if she had spent hours deep underwater. _When had she dozed off? _

She slowly exhaled and buried her face in her hands. She'd been foolish to think that she'd be immune to the emotional aftershock of the reapings. The long crowded trip to Lycorias, Four's main town, and the goodbyes had passed in a blur and her careful preparations felt inadequate compared now that she was confronted with reality's fickleness. Already, some things she had taken for granted had proven to be wrong.

Her district partner, Delphin Vega, was a trained volunteer.

Mags squared her shoulders, refusing to let doubt invade her. There was no turning back now.

Delphin sat next to the window, lazily propped on two chairs. The empty dishes had been cleared, only a jug of water remained on the spotless tablecloth. Mags tied her golden-brown hair back and smoothed her fresh-smelling azure dress. She was quite satiated and was surprised the Capitol had served them such a decent meal. She sat back in the old but comfortable armchair, determined not to squander her strength.

She was too nervous to close her eyes, and the sandy-haired eighteen year old was the only thing worth looking at. _He would maybe kill her_. There had been little privacy during the quarter hour they'd been granted to say goodbye in the Justice Building, and Delphin's family had been ostentatiously loud.

_"Don't let yourself be intimidated by the girl. You're no simple volunteer, Son," the tanned man with the mustache said. "You're a man, you have what it takes. You've always made us proud. You won't fail us."_

_"Don't worry, Father," Delphin had replied, sparing Mags an assessing glance, "I know the stakes. I am ready. No one has as much reason to come home."_

_"No, they don't," t__he comely woman at his side said with a proud smile, straightening Delphin's shirt collar._ "Be strong, don't forget what we've taught you. No son of ours will ever be a loser." 

What kind of parent looked thrilled to see their son off? What kind of crushing expectations had they placed on Delphin? No simple volunteer... Had he already killed? Mags had tensed, her instincts warning her to not overestimate district kinship. She truly hadn't expected another volunteer.

Mags' mind was still abuzz with unanswered questions. She and Delphin had already exchanged a few curt words. His parents had been traders, selling directly to District Five. Now the borders were closed, and they had lost their source of income. He had told her, his posture rigid and his face burning with determination, that he owed his parents offer them the quality of life they deserved. Mags had stared in dismay: his shirt was satin. Ten years after the Rebellion, he could still afford _satin._ Satin was seldom even sold in her small town_. _What was Delphin risking his life for?_ Silk? _She folded her arms protectively around her stomach. _Would he try to kill her for it?_ Mags wondered if he had kept the deeper reasons to himself. He would be a fool to trust her.

"Escort's gone?" The sandy-haired teen muttered with a yawn, oblivious to the storm of feelings raging in Mags. "Did he say anything helpful to you?"

Mags' lips twitched sardonically at his hopeful expression. The escort would have been more eager to spend time with diseased mongrels from the look of him. "You wish. I don't-"

Without warning, the train gave a violent shake. The young woman stumbled, almost biting her tongue off as her mouth snapped shut. A metallic groan assaulted her ears. Her hands fastened painfully on the armrest as she lurched forward with momentum. She forced herself upright and snapped her head towards the window.

Mags' lips froze into a silent scream.

The rear of the train had derailed and now twisted upon itself, its wheels soaring over a foot above the rails. With a horrible crunching sound, the last three wagons broke off, crashing on their sides. The now loose tenth wagon sailed towards the two frozen tributes at blinding speed.

Mags heard Delphin shout as the world exploded. A blast flattened her in her armchair, slamming it against the train wall. Blind from dust and debris, Mags struggled to get some air, her lungs wracked by desperate shallow coughs.

Her world upturned again. She lost all sense of directions and struggled to make sense of her surroundings. Her tearing eyes widened in terror as the heavy table groaned and started sliding towards her. The armchair she was clutching had toppled backwards and pinned her to the wall as their wagon collapsed on the side. The wall buckled, metal panes groaning and windows shattering as it crashed against something hard.

Finally the curled up girl regained a sense of space, gasping in the stifling heat. Burning tablecloth was almost touching her dress. Mags gingerly climbed on the armchair which had saved her life. Fire was beginning to eat at its fringes. Her heart hammering, she violently pushed the flaming table away and forced herself to stop and listen to any signal her body was sending her.

_Just scrapes and bruises._ Her eyes hardened as she quickly evaluated the danger. The smoke was the most dangerous thing in the steeply tilted wagon, unless whatever the wagon was leaning on failed to support its weight. _She had to move._

Mags focused on her feet to avoid cutting herself on the shattered windows before stepping down on the wagon floor. The room was devastated. The windows looked like the only way out, but they were now at her shoulder level and shards of jagged glass remained all around the edges. Mags made to grab a chair before realizing that would mean walking over the burning curtains.

"Move, Delphin," she said, sparing her disoriented district partner an urgent glance. The prospect of suffocating to death and charred to a crisp when a window was a mere five yards away felt as lame as it was terrifying.

"Someone alive here?" A girl's voice called from the outside.

Mags smiled in relief.

"District Four, there's two of us! We can both move," she replied, rolling up her ash and dust covered sleeves. She was now glad she had picked a long and practical dress.

"Lucky," the voice muttered, "Ten's wagon's pulp and Five's is little better. Stay back from the window on your left," she said more loudly.

Mags coughed, curling into a fetal position as the girl outside pounded at the broken glass with something heavy. Mags licked her fingertips to soothe some of the burning. She tasted bitter ash.

"Take the curtain rod lying over there. Use it to keep your balance until I can grab you."

Mags stood back up, seeing a small hand slam filthy cushions on the remaining glass shards around the window pane.

Delphin grunted, kicking at a half-charred cushion in anger. "How much does frigging fire proof material cost?"

_More than the Capitol will spend on us apparently_, Mags bitterly thought.

A wiry arm fastened itself around Mags as she struggled to push herself out. A lean girl with short dark-brown hair gifted her with a small smile. Her amber dress was a mess. She stood nearly a head shorter than Mags and would have been unremarkable if not for the agile way she then helped Delphin out.

"I'm Fife Chican," the girl said. She was as tense as a fisherman caught in a storm, sweat pouring down her face and hands trembling, and her words came out clipped as if she was forcing herself to speak clearly. "The only tribute from Nine now." Fife took a deep breath and Mags was impressed the girl didn't burst into sobs. "My mentor must have escaped from the other side."

The three of them were standing in thin space under the two crashed wagons which formed a precarious tent-like shelter. Mags realized what Fife had meant by 'pulp' when she saw the wagon attached to hers. Ten's wagon had slammed into it and all but cut it in half. She looked away, brought back to another time.

"_But Mum, how are we going to go to Four if we blow up all the trains?" _

"_We'll have to walk, Princess. The Capitol controls the trains on this railway. Those people wanted to go burn District Four."_

"_So we didn't let them," the six year old said with great satisfaction. "I don't mind walking. We'll win, won't we?"_

"_Yes, Mags, we will."_

_But when? _ Mags forced her attention back on the boyish tribute from Nine.

"One of Five's is still alive," Fife said, her black eyes darting from left to right like a cornered beast desperate for escape. "I saw someone crawl under their wagon. I don't think they have a mentor."

"They don't. I'm Mags Abalone," Mags said, willing confidence in her voice to soothe the other tribute. She wished she had better to offer than a friendly word. "Thank you. Let's move before the two wagons crash on us."

Fife blinked rapidly. "Yeah, that…" she muttered, a flash of horror crossing her face. She stumbled, her eyes wide in distress, but quickly shook herself and all but bolted away from the train.

Mags straightened, a sense of urgency dispelling the last remains of the sluggishness that had invaded her body. She seemed the less affected of the three, which meant she was responsible for them. Delphin was blowing on his burns with a lost expression. Mags shoved him in the right direction.

"Come on," she said firmly.

For someone who had ostentatiously trained, and believed that granted him special status, Mags found the boy from Lycorias rather disappointing in a crisis. At least he wasn't screaming and thrashing. Her ringing ears soon informed her that some were not as silent. She ground her teeth in helpless rage as she forced herself not to take too large strides. Her heels were sensible but hardly adapted to walking on gravel, especially gravel riddled with cutting debris. She greedily gulped a mouthful of air when a cool wind finally caressed her face.

A pair of blood-stained avoxes was pulling the train driver out of the crushed locomotive. Fife swiftly averted her eyes. The body was mangled beyond recognition. Mags didn't need to turn to know Delphin's stomach had rebelled. Her eyes narrowed in hate at the sight of the mute slaves' red uniforms. Avoxes were one of the more recent abominable crimes the Capitol would have to answer for.

"Your partner won't die, let's get fresh air," a harassed-sounding Fife said.

The girl wiped her face in sudden fury, a strangled scream escaping her throat. Mags almost didn't dare to breathe in fear of having the other break down.

Fife's black eyes flickered to hers. "You've seen death like this before."

It wasn't a question. The shorter tribute seemed about her age, and Mags wondered if she too had actively participated in the rebellion. She just nodded.

The three wagons that had been yanked away from the whole had toppled over, almost twenty yards from the rails. Two particularly miserable-looking tributes were dragging a dark-skinned boy out of the wreck. His leg was at an odd angle.

"They don't dally," Fife muttered, latching onto Mags' arm.

Mags followed her gaze. Two boys with makeshift bags were already disappearing in the distance, looking relatively unscathed. Mags suspected others would be soon following them. She knew escape was only postponing her death, the Capitol would find them. Fife's grip suddenly felt like a choking hold as the reminder only one would survive struck Mags like an icy wave. Anyone she met was a potential murderer. She had to remain suspicious, she had no friends here.

Mags hit the ground, dragging Fife with her, before she consciously registered the sudden noise as an explosion. She blessed the instincts she had acquired as a child. Fife was breathing hard but seemed unhurt and Delphin's rapid but low cursing was reassuring. As soon as Mags dared open her eyes, she caught herself staring back in horror at the train. If there had been anything left of wagon Ten, there was nothing left now.

The seventeen year old struck the ground in fury, a familiar and best forgotten feeling of powerlessness rising in her.

Fife was biting her clenched hand, tears streaming down her dirty cheeks. "What now?" She whimpered, looking lost. "This _shouldn't_ have happened."

Mags could only nod, her mind reeling. Nothing had prepared her for a crash in the middle of nowhere. Only Wagons One and Two were still upright although Two's windows were shattered and Wagon One had rolled over the wrecked locomotive. The girl from Four counted a dozen survivors, including a handful of avoxes. For the first time, she wondered about her unpleasant escort and if he too had paid with his life for the Capitol's greed. She couldn't see on the other side of the train but she could hear voices.

"We should go with them," a green-looking Delphin said, without waiting for an answer.

Mags turned to follow him and stopped dead. An inexplicable yet intense dislike spiked through her at the sight of a group of tributes Delphin was heading for. The blonde girl in the luxurious red dress especially made her hair rise on end.

"Stay," Fife said, "they look like volunteers."

Mags bristled despite understanding exactly what the girl meant. People here to give the Capitol a show. Twisted minds or people so desperate to win that they shouldn't be approached. Those would be the killers, the ones who knew how to wield weapons. Mags didn't want them within fifty feet of her.

The shorter girl eyed her suspiciously. "Well, maybe you have reasons, Mags. But I'm not following you over there if you go," she said.

Mags frowned. How had Fife already figured out that she wasn't a collaborator? Did she prefer denial to being alone? Mags wasn't about to complain.

"Hey, there's Vicuña," a tall boy shouted, catching their attention. Maybe it was his stern suit, or just his bearing, but Mags was certain he and the muscular redhead by his side were from District Two.

The two girls broke into a run, heading for the other side of the wreckage. As some of the dust settled, Mags noticed a hovercraft where the District One mentor had to be. Another carrier was already leaving. Mags wondered if the surviving mentors and escorts had gotten on it. The avoxes were already climbing into the grounded craft. Vicuña laughed harshly as one of the tributes made a move to follow, her fit black-clad figure was now quite visible on the hovercraft's ramp.

The young woman's condemning words carried over the noise. "You sabotage the train and expect to get away with it? Find your own way to the Capitol, now. Head north-east. You should glimpse it in a few days if you make haste. Maybe then we'll take pity on you. Except the two hooligans from Six, obviously."

Mags' jaw dropped slightly. _They would be left here?_ What about the bodies of the dead?

"No, you can't!" A youthful curly-haired boy shouted in despair.

"We're supposed to go the Capitol. To fight!" The boy from Two echoed, his fist raised in outrage.

The hovercraft was deaf to their pleas as it took off and sped east. Mags simply stared in shock. _All her carefully laid plans._ As she forced herself to swallow, she suddenly remembered the taste of fear.

A snarl ripped the air as people soon identified the tributes from Six. _"You!" _The blonde in the red dress shouted, pointing at the culprits.

A polished male voice made Mags start. "Their arms…."

Mags tore her eyes away from the departing carriers and the now cursing blonde fury and found herself facing a fit eighteen year old who, despite the dust on his well-tailored suit, had a striking air of nobility to him. His chestnut hair fell elegantly around his handsome face and his dark brown eyes had a distant alertness to them. He looked peculiarly unruffled by the day's events, as if he'd just set foot on the scene. Mags was torn between suspicion -he looked much too rich to be decent- and purely aesthetic admiration.

"Constantine Aquila, at your service," he said, inclining his head fractionally, "but I fear they're more interesting than I am."

Mags arched her eyebrows at the amused undertones to his voice. She had met her share of confident and flirtatious young men, but never had she expected one to gently tease her in a situation like this. Sheer surprise seemed to have dissipated the fog in her mind. She turned her eyes back towards where the aristocratic boy had been gesturing. The two tributes from Six had grease up to their shoulders. Oil grease.

Mags swallowed, torn between pride and fierce sadness. There was something beautiful about sheer defiance and the casualties had been headed for slaughter anyway, but she feared it would only remain an isolated act of bravery. If the Games weren't enough, a derailed train would hardly rouse the Districts out of their stupor. Nevertheless, her heart warmed at the knowledge people still cared deeply about not letting the Capitol get its way.

"No way…" Fife muttered, clutching her head in extreme confusion.

The blonde in the red dress brandished a piece of debris like a rod as she advanced on the two shocked-looking tributes from Six. Delphin and the couple from Two soon started running after her.

"_You blithering idiots_," the blonde screamed, tears of anger ruining her make-up.

"I wish a hovercraft blows up on those monsters' bloody city!" The girl from Six spat, trembling from head to toe. She was a tiny thing, all elbows and knees, who'd obviously skipped too many meals.

Before anyone else thought to move, a sickening crush of metal against bone struck the air. The girl fell to the ground, her screams splitting the sickly-warm air like shards of glass. A second strike left her limp before the muscular redhead from Two could yank the crazed attacker back.

"I didn't do anything, Man. I really didn't," the dead girl's district partner wailed, edging back. "I don't know what happened. You got to believe me."

"Blew up by itself did it?" The District Two boy sneered, lifting him by the shirt and shaking him forcefully.

"It wasn't me!"

"A coward to boot," he spat.

The redhead had wrestled the weapon out of the blonde's grasp and now was staring in horror at her District partner. "Jason, don't!"

Mags's knees gave away when the hulking tribute snapped the boy's neck and tossed him aside like a rag doll.

"Come on, Styx! He was being annoyingly loud. It's not like he'd have stood a chance in the arena."

She didn't hear what the irate Styx said next.

A strong arm steadied her.

A thin sneer twisted Constantine's face. He looked personally offended. "At least my District has no monopoly on murderous imbeciles…" he muttered.

Mags swallowed painfully and averted her eyes. _What had just happened? Why hadn't she done anything?_ She breathed in deeply, trying to regain control over herself. She was glad Constantine seemed lucid about the horror. Maybe he wasn't a rich boy who'd volunteered for glory but simply an unlucky one. Fife was staring away from the action, her hands over her ears. Fife looked down when she met Mags' eyes and tried to regain a semblance of dignity. Mags felt burning shame sear through her veins. At least Fife had been honest: the brunette had known she wouldn't act so she had shielded herself from the terrible sight.

Mags couldn't believe she had watched two murders without so much as shouting at them to stop.

She had been a child during the rebellion. Being silent and unmoving was what her parents had taught her to do and what had saved her life more than once. The war child had grown but it seemed her reflexes hadn't evolved. She had thought herself a soldier but had just idly watched two helpless teenagers be murdered. Her insides clenched painfully as she wondered for the first time if she truly had the strength to return home. Mags envied Fife for what the other girl had not seen.

"Enough," Constantine said, "as killing them would be hypocritical, I suggest we find what is salvageable and start walking east."

"Going South-West would be childish, you think?" Mags said, unable to tear her gaze from the two corpses. The red-haired Styx had thrown a tattered curtain over them but their limp bodies were etched in Mags' memory. "We shouldn't go on the train," she added, "what if it blows up on us?"

"Well, if that fire spreads to the leaking engine there…" Fife said in hushed tones, pointing with a trembling hand to the half-crushed locomotive.

Before Mags thought to stop him, Constantine purposefully strode towards one of the large debris and wrapped a stone in a burning piece of curtain. She watched in disbelief as he hit the spilled fuel with perfect aim.

"Down!" Fife exclaimed.

Mags barely had the time to fall to her knees. A cacophony of screams rose all around her. The explosion was deafening. The whole wagon was lifted off the ground as the train carcass groaned and twisted on itself, crushing the few remaining intact wagons.

"Now we know there will be no more explosions, the supply wagon seems intact," a disheveled Constantine said, briskly walking up to it without waiting their leave.

"He's insane," Mags said, still under shock. _There could have still been trapped people under there!_ She was astonished to see none of the locomotive's pieces had landed on someone's head.

Fife chuckled weakly, her face regaining a little color. "He's walking very fast. I think he realized it was a bit careless."

_A bit_.

Mags shut her eyes for a few seconds, hoping to dispel the horrible clamor in her ears. She decided analyzing the other's motives could only endanger her sanity. Sometimes, there was no rhyme or reason to be found in a crisis.

"Let's see what's in that thirteenth wagon," she said in stronger tones. She had to move, to stop thinking about the bodies and the screams. "The food and drinks have to be stockpiled somewhere."

They were indeed, although the commotion had made a mess of everything. Bags, various weapons and supplies as well as spare covers and avox uniforms, and even a damaged closet full of boots. Mags gingerly stepped inside, afraid to step on a corpse. When she saw none, she began to sort out the food, trying to see what they could keep.

Soon the others joined them. There was enough none of the surviving tributes had to fight, but Mags still hurried, uncomfortable at being so close to the two murderers. Her hands shook in anger and disgust. Murder would be a necessity in the arena and Mags didn't know whether to feel relieved or terrified at how repulsed she was at the thought.

"Get warm clothes and a pike, please," she stiffly told Constantine. She decided that it would be too stupid to refuse the help of an able-bodied man because she was suspicious of his background. At worst they'd separate later, when they would have made sense of the situation.

_Why had they needed all of this to be in the train? _She then wondered as she saw Fife come back with a full bag and plastic water bottles.

The supplies, spare towels and cleaning gloves, and even the medicine the brunette had discretely showed her made sense, but not the weapons or even the backpacks.

"Hold this," Fife said, before putting on a pair of red trousers and unabashedly removing her ruined dress to slip on the top. "Now I just need to find a way to make this less… shockingly red."

Mags smiled at the other's lively tone, relieved almost to the point of tears that Fife was pulling herself together. She didn't want to be alone. She was also glad her own dress had survived the crash. The mere idea of donning an avox uniform made her skin crawl. Her eyes fell back to the three loaded backpacks.

"The thirteenth wagon attached itself after Two," Constantine answered as Mags voiced her confusion. He eyed the sturdy rubber boots with a resigned expression before removing his own scratched dress shoes and putting the protective wear on. "Vicuña hinted that some of the Capitol's preparations were last minute. Apparently expenses for the Games are incredible."

Mags almost snickered at the idea of the Capitol bankrupting itself with the Hunger Games. _Oh the irony_. All trace of humor swiftly fled when she realized Vicuña had made the President a huge favor by encouraging wealthy Capitol citizen to pay outrageous sums to give their favorite tribute a crust of bread.

Constantine seemed set on not leaving her side. Mags didn't dare ask why, feeling his company could make the difference between her survival and a long lingering death in what was, if her memory hadn't failed her, southern District Three.

They were as loaded as they dared. Mags hadn't found any ropes and didn't bother asking Jason to share what he had found in the small kitchen, especially matches. Fife muttered something about having taken the emergency torches before gesturing they leave.

Mags' eyes fell on a soft-looking girl with a big gash on her leg who was pouring water on her burned hand. The child would need the medicine Fife had secretly hoarded, yet Mags knew she had to establish quick priorities if she wanted to survive. She turned away, feeling terrible, but her step was sure and her jaw set. She had known volunteering would have involved dismissing the other tributes' lives as necessary sacrifices. This was not the situation she had had in mind but it unfortunately changed little. Mags hoped that she had not overestimated her own strength.

"Aquila, don't be ridiculous. Come with us."

A bored-looking Constantine lazily turned towards the voice. He seemed to hesitate before looking away, as if he had lost interest. "I have other plans. Try not to forsake all honor, Mirabelle."

The soot-covered blonde chuckled in disbelief, apparently more upset by his words than by the fact she had just killed a barely pubescent girl. "I was trying to be loyal, you pompous fool. Fine, stay all on your own."

_Pompous maybe, but at least Constantine wasn't deranged._

The muscled Styx had turned to face them, surprise and shock freezing her features in a mask of stone.

Mags felt a blend of pity and anger ripple through her at the sight. That expression reminded her of hardened veterans, but the tribute before her was too young to have had her emotions sucked from her soul by violence. The Capitol's evil was leaking into the districts, molding people's minds. It had to be stopped.

_Careers._ Vicuña's damning legacy.

Mags had to survive. Four couldn't become populated by oblivious killing machines shaped to quench the Capitol's thirst for inhuman entertainment. Not in her homeland, not ever.

A foreign male voice caused her to break eye contact.

"We'll come with you."

"And who are _you_?" Mirabelle demanded, throwing a thin blanket over her torn scarlet dress.

"Robin and I are from Seven. You know, the only District with _two_ surviving victors," the robust young man said, crossing his arms.

A ring of metal cut the blonde's reply short.

"They're in," Styx said, sword in hand, daring anyone to challenge her. The redhead's district partner was eyeing her with obvious apprehension. _Come on! He was being annoyingly loud._ Mags' lips thinned in a hard line. Was Delphin really going to stay with those Capitol-worshiping murderers? How could he trust them not to slit his throat for sport? How could he readily forget the two bodies under the half-charred curtain, a mere ten yards away, or the

A hand lightly tugged at Mag's arm. Fife gestured at the aristocratic boy. Constantine was already walking away.

Mags spared Delphin a last glance. A bitter taste invaded her mouth as the sandy-haired boy dropped his gaze. How could her own district partner choose those people over her? Yet she would have mourned him either way, maybe it was better if she saw as little of him as possible.

"You're right, Fife, we should go," she said, pulling herself together.

It was mid-afternoon, they were wasting precious time. She made sure nothing would fall off her two backpacks before setting after Constantine. She couldn't wait to leave this horror behind. She blessed the rebellion for having taught her how to handle the sight of violent death.

Constantine shortened his strides to let the two catch up. A resigned smile graced his lips.

"I wonder if the gamemakers' imagination could have conjured an arena as bleak as these ruins," he said, absently fastening the belt holding his newly acquired long-sword.

Mags scoffed at the irony in his tone. It brought her mind back on the Games. Had the rules changed with the crash? She finally took the time to process their surroundings. They train had derailed from a low twisting bridge which connected the two banks of a dry stream bed. Sand and gravel crunched under their feet but soon gave way to muddy earth of an unhealthy color, as if soaked by oil or some other chemical. Collapsed dwellings and factories littered the ground and the surrounding mountains as far as the eye could see, which wasn't much farther than a mile. There was an opaque hue to the air that made Mags itch to hold her breath. She doubted it was an arena. Arenas had always been small and obvious until now. What had happened here? She tensely pulled on the pair of gloves she had taken, wishing she had a full sterile suit.

"Wait!"

A lanky boy in his mid-teens had shouted to get their attention, wiping his sweaty long dark hair out of his face. His shredded suit was filthy with dirt and blood as he ran; cradling what seemed to be a broken wrist.

"I'm Gyan. I'm from here. I can help you. And I neither want to stay in this place waiting for help that won't come or go with the other literally crazy bunch."

"The sane young man over here blew up the train," Fife intervened, looking both wary and amused as she pointed at Constantine.

The tall tribute's expression was an incredible mix of focus and boredom. He was fit but not so physically intimidating. Mags wondered how he'd survived to see eighteen without being punched to death. His superior attitude was unbelievable.

The boy from Three chuckled. "I think you actually saved my life, Dude. I was literally stuck under a plate until that last explosion moved it. I heard engines but I was more concerned about getting out. Besides I saw you guys sneak the medicine. I'm betting you grabbed morphine or something in there." Gyan's hopeful smile devolved into a grimace of pain. "Where is everyone else gone by the way?" His lips began to tremble. "So many missing…. They can't all be dead. You haven't seen Comet, have you?"

Comet was the previous year's victor. The spry girl from Three had been the deadliest acrobat Mags had ever seen. Mags didn't meet Gyan's gaze, hoping the others would not feel the need to tell him how the most recent casualties had died. Or that their mentors had abandoned them. She didn't dare ask about his district partner.

"We saw two boys leave together," Fife said, "probably the boy from Five with someone else."

"The Eleven female tribute is alive. She left alone," Constantine added, his piercing eyes lost in the distance.

Mags glanced back at the burning wrecked train. The dark-skinned decent-looking boy was still clutching his crushed leg. A pretty blonde in her mid-teens had knelt besides him, evidently offering comfort. They looked oddly at ease with each other for perfect strangers. Two other tributes, including the pale kid who had shouted at Vicuña, and who could not have been over fourteen, were hovering next to them, lost looks on their faces.

Mags clenched her fists in anger as a wave of heat assaulted her senses. Her green eyes burned from the stench of melting metal and charred flesh. The Capitol was not above organizing a second reaping to have their Games. She desperately hoped they would not decide to add some morbid twist and select the tribute's relatives instead. They could not touch Esperanza.

"If we find more supplies or a way out, we will come back for them," she vowed. The remaining tributes had enough for days if they were careful. Surely they would find a way to get to the Capitol, although Mags wondered what good could come of that.

The short-haired brunette wore a guarded expression. Constantine inclined his head in assent when Mags met his eyes, but he didn't say a word.

"Just don't light a fire," Gyan said, his voice thick with fear. "We got lucky we crashed on the old bridge-" he let out a nervous giggle- "honest. This place has been a no man's land since the end of the rebellion. Since we'd found a way to scramble hovercrafts' and missiles' autopilot, the Capitol literally dropped thousands of chemical filled balloons on the whole sector. The air is slow poison, in some places not so slow…."

So Four's shores had not been the only region ravaged by the Capitol's vile weapons. Mags had never thought to witness such indiscriminate destruction. This had to have been one of Three's greatest cities, reduced to a deadly wasteland. This was like learning the Capitol had won all over again. The young woman felt weary to the bone.

Hunched over his wounded arm, Gyan was struggling to contain both his nervousness and pain. Mags forced her lips into a friendly smile. "Give him the medicine. We're lucky somebody knows the lay of the land."

Constantine sighed, brushing ash off his well-drawn eyebrows. "He also seems to have an even more pessimistic view of our survival chances, although the morphine will doubtless brighten his spirits."

"Dude, I'm counting on it."

Mags stared in mild amusement at Constantine. He had the same air of annoyance as her friend Dylana when she was forced to bring her neighbor's young son along on her nights out. Was Constantine being possessive? No, that was absurd. Maybe his ego hadn't been taught to handle a base-born kid knowing more than he did, even if this was Gyan's district.

Mags' lips twitched. Or maybe the rich boy was just sensitive about being called _Dude_.

But Constantine had chosen to follow them instead of his district partner, and that simple fact made Mags wary of judging him too early. He seemed unperturbed by the events, but Mags knew that she outwardly looked calm herself and that it didn't make her unfeeling. She leaned on her five-foot long pike, now almost glad for the wreck. This wasn't an arena, their lives were in danger, but their humanity wouldn't be challenged so soon.

Gyan managed a strained grin when Fife finally found the much needed morphine pills.


	3. Ruins

"This place was where all the hardware was done. We had to move the hives next to the Spiral suburbs in the capital. My father says the city has become more massive than any other in Panem. You literally need two whole days to walk from one edge to the other. The spiders don't like it so much since our jobs are often loud and mess with all their thinking. Isolation wasn't the first priority when we had to rebuild since we weren't sent any food until we met the quotas."

"Hives? The spiders?" Fife interrupted, her voice brittle as she tried to latch on to any piece of information that would heighten their survival chances.

Gyan smiled wryly. "Spiders are those who live in the Web, they're the big brainiacs. We tech guys live and work in the Hives. But we're Monkeys, not Bees. Go figure."

The long-haired boy had been prattling on for the last two hours. He sounded a little high but his step was steady enough that Mags wasn't concerned. She only loosely focused on his words, her eyes on their surroundings. Strange smells assaulted her senses and, despite the thick make-shift scarf around her face, made her head spin dangerously. The stale stifling heat only increased her discomfort. She swallowed, only to taste a bitter tang on her tongue and throat. She clamped her mouth shut. _Was little death entering her lungs with every breath?_ She looked around, searching for an escape.

Some of the houses were almost intact but corroded by rust and aggressive chemicals. She glimpsed furniture behind one of the darkened windows, an open book on a table and even plush toys. People had left in a hurry.

"Will there be landmarks on our way to the Capitol, aside from the sun and stars?" She said, feeling she was walking in fog. An unhealthy fog full of out-of-place wisps and hues. Was she hallucinating? She checked her head for bumps. Her skin itched just from looking.

"We're close to the edge of the mountains, I think. We'll reach the plains if we keep going straight and it's cleaner there. No big lakes or anything. Can I have more morphine? My arm is really killing me."

"When we set camp. We need the supply of pills to last at least five days, and we're already hoping that no one other than you will need any. You have to deal with it," Mags said, not unkindly. She peered in the distance. Indeed, behind the swirling substances, shadows that could have been mountains seemed to circle them. They had to be close, but the air was too foul to see.

Gyan grimaced at her refusal but didn't complain.

Constantine was walking silently next to them, looking like a portrait who'd been summoned into the world of the living. While he was undeniably attractive, everything about him screamed _privileged_. Yet Mags remembered playing with showy jewelry as a child, jewelry that was common place in District One. Her suspicion was instinctive: the wealthy had to work hand in hand with the Capitol and were tightly monitored. Whether his family had retained their wealth during the war or made a fortune when the rest of Panem was a wreck, it couldn't have been without the Capitol's support and approval. Yet Constantine also seemed brave. He hadn't said anything that would make her dislike him nor had he even once complained once about their predicament, and that she respected.

She wondered if they all looked so radically out of place amidst the desolate ruins, clad in their dirtied but still most elegant clothes -except for Fife in her dreadful avox uniform- but with scarves, rubber gloves, boots and bulging backpacks.

Whereas the aristocratic boy stood stiff, as if defying intangible enemies to come close, Fife was a flurry of little movements; tentative steps, furtive expressions and darted glances. She never stood at the exact same height or walked at exactly the same pace, as if she was terrified something would slip past her scrutiny. She said very little except the occasional question, her hand white on one of the knives she had taken on the train.

Mags herself was tense as a nut, as if trying to take as little space as possible, to breathe as shallowly as she dared. The rubble groaned and creaked all around them, filling the air with low disquieting moans. Sometimes she thought she heard bubbling or the eerie hiss of venomous air drafts. She could do little but glare at the potential threats.

Gyan's rapid speech had given way to sulking and regular gasps of pain. Mags clenched her fists in annoyance. She had braved greater pain in silence at a younger age. There was really nothing more they could do for the suffering tribute except being sympathetic.

A prickling sensation made her hair rise on end. She turned, spotting a smoking pool of yellowish matter.

"Sulfur won't kill you straight away. Just no fire," Gyan muttered, looking utterly miserable as he walked hunched over his broken arm.

Mags flashed him a small smile. "I'm sorry it hurts."

The boy blushed, looking annoyed at himself. "I know."

"Are there people still living here?" Fife said, edging closer to Constantine as if he would protect her from danger.

Mags froze. She finally placed where her sense of disquiet came from. It was the feeling of foreign eyes spying your every move.

Gyan had paled. "Sca... Scavengers. Some say some people stayed here, because the Capitol wouldn't find them. Because they can be free."

_Free?_ In this desolate hell? Mags felt her heart clench, not knowing weather to be humbled by such bravery or pained that people would suffer so much for so little satisfaction.

"Then why didn't the Capitol blow up these ruins once and for all?" Constantine said, his face somber.

Mags' jaw tightened. couldn't tell whose side he was on, for indeed pulverizing those ruins would be the only way for the environment to start healing. But Gyan had just said there were people living here, he couldn't have missed that.

"Because then we could've rebuilt. We're not allowed here. It might be a lesson, I really don't know," Gyan admitted, "people have tried to come for their belongings and literally burn everything down in the hope the land will be healthy again one day, but it's forbidden."

Mags shut her eyes briefly as sudden rage boiled inside her, willing herself to keep calm. Rash anger rarely offered good solutions. Such was the evil of the Capitol that it would rather cripple productivity than allow District citizen to reclaim their homes and rebuild their city.

"If those 'scavengers' are more than a myth, what do they eat? Where do they safely sleep? Would they attack us?"

Constantine's questions echoed her own. How could even the most hardened rebels live in such a place for nearly a decade? She eyed her surroundings critically.

"We can sleep in any of the erect houses, many look solid enough. We can't escape the fumes but we'll notice anyone coming close. Maybe tomorrow we'll think about what we have to do more clearly."

Mags just hoped one more day in this unwholesome fog would not kill them, but they couldn't travel by night.

"Walking north-east does not require great intellect. Could you start one of the rusty vehicles we saw, Gyan?" Constantine said, glancing down at the smaller boy. Behind his aloof bearing, Mags could glimpse a light of desperation.

"No. I'm a future tech, not a frigging magic mechanic," the teen grumbled, his eyes reddened from pain and dust.

A whistle cut the air. Gyan yelped.

Fife gestured from inside a house, twenty yards away. Constantine turned around in shock, as if expecting the brunette to still be by their side. He reddened and swiftly walked away to join her.

"She was literally right behind me, when did she move?" Gyan whimpered, clutching his wounded arm harder.

Mags almost rolled her eyes. They were all tense and had been self-absorbed in their conversation; Fife slipping away for half a minute was neither astonishing nor a reason to have a stroke. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen, why?"

"We'll take care of you," she said with a small smile, amazed at how easy it was to convince both Gyan and herself that it was a promise she could keep. "Don't let your mind play tricks. We have supplies and we know where we are going."

Gyan looked like he was about to be ill. He lowered his eyes, flushing slightly. "I can't think straight from the pain. I just need to knock myself out. Did you grab some alcohol? I'd be happy to literally forget today."

Mags chuckled. The idea had merit, but she doubted any amount of alcohol could erase the last hours. She forced her mind to concentrate on the present, on the sound of her boots on the ground, on the evening heat on her skin and her grumbling stomach. As long as she focused on what was happening and not what could happen, she would remain calm.

Constantine and Fife seemed to be locked in a staring game when Mags entered the house. The slightest of smiles graced their lips but their bodies seemed poised to strike.

Mags shook her head slightly. "You look like two peacocks striving to impress the other into submission."

Constantine looked so scandalized by her comment that Mags failed to conceal a grin.

"I'm afraid he's a much prettier peacock than I am, Mags," Fife said, her black eyes sparkling, "this house looks as solid and clean as they get. The storage room over there has no windows. We could sleep there. Just careful with the bathroom, it looks like some cleaning products exploded a long time ago."

Mags smiled in approval and dropped her backpacks next to the others. It was high time they stopped to rest. Fife had been very silent except to ask Gyan the occasional question, but she seemed the opposite of shy. Mags found herself wanting nothing more than to sit down for dinner and get to know her traveling companions.

"Peacocks?" Constantine finally mouthed in wounded tones.

"Would you prefer eagles, Aquila?"

Mags' eyes widened at Fife's teasing tone. She had indeed stumbled on a power play. Fife sounded much more testy than flirtatious. Mags wondered what either of them was trying to achieve. This seemed an odd way to assess whether the other was a trustworthy travelling companion.

The aristocratic boy leaned against the wall, his detached imperious expression back in place. "I would."

"What is your problem?" Mags said with curious frown. She was rather amused at how seriously he took himself.

Fife's face fell like a child denied candy, exaggerating her pout. "What's the fun if we have to spell it out?"

Mags crouched next to the bags and pulled out some of the fruit she had taken. "We need to work together more than we need to become friends. You can't allow yourselves to get distracted."

"What are we, soldiers on a mission?" Gyan said, curled up in a corner. He looked so pathetic that Fife threw him the morphine box. Mags kept her eyes on him to check he didn't swallow the whole supply. Yes, they were soldiers. They had to be to survive.

"I'm a volunteer, she is not," Constantine lazily explained, removing his rubber gloves.

Mags narrowed her eyes in sudden suspicion. So he wasn't here because of bad luck.

"He came with us because of a hunch. It doesn't make sense," Fife said, crossing her arms. There was nothing light in her expression anymore.

"No rule dictates that I should favor a group of half-trained glory-hounds over a true soldier."

Mags met Constantine's intense brown eyes, touched by the compliment even if she wondered how soldierly she had truly been today. But Fife's was a very valid question. If Constantine dismissed the others as glory hounds, why was he here? Mags jaw tightened, her mood darkening. Whatever the reason, she could not let him win.

"You believe he is… shallow for volunteering, Fife?" Gyan cautiously said.

The short-haired girl didn't answer. She didn't look hostile, but simply as if she found the idea of volunteering absurd, even offensive. Mags could understand that from Fife's point of view, volunteering was suicide by another name. Idiotic at best and criminally selfish at worst. Mags stiffened further at the thought, feeling the pressure of her own volunteering threaten to hunch her back and bow her neck. She willed herself to keep her head high and not betray her fears.

Fife bit into an apple, noisily.

"Afraid to hurt my feelings, Nine?" Constantine challenged with raised eyebrows, stressing the number.

Mags repressed an aggravated sigh. They hadn't listened to a word she had said. Yet she didn't intervene. Maybe this was the semblance of normalcy they needed to function after the day's terrible events. She crouched next to Gyan, putting a comforting hand on his good shoulder. He gave her a weak smile which caused her throat to tighten. Gyan was healthy, sane and _normal_. No one would expect a fifteen year old to shrug off the pain of a broken arm or to do more than answer questions and follow orders after such a traumatizing afternoon. Normal didn't stand a chance during the Games and Mags suddenly wondered what her ability to remain calm said about her.

"I believe you feel your life lacks luster and you want things to be great," Fife finally said, "and that volunteering was like blowing the train up. It felt brilliant at the time."

"Why would my life lack luster?" Constantine said.

His guarded expression made Mags wish that Fife had kept silent. Conflict could tear their precarious alliance apart. She wasn't sure that Constantine was above taking his supplies and leaving if he felt slighted, and they needed him, whatever his flaws were. Unfortunately Mags was also plagued by a little voice that urged her to listen; after all she hardly knew who she was traveling with and her life depended on it.

"Because your whole bearing shouts 'my high expectations aren't ever met' in a way that goes beyond what I'd expect of ultra posh upbringing," Fife said, eyeing him frankly. "How would the Games have possibly met them?"

_Ultra posh upbringing?_ Mags winced. Fife was quite presumptuous and hardly mincing words.

Constantine removed his sword from its scabbard, his handsome features reflecting themselves on the polished blade. "Challenges show the strength there is in people," he said, his dark eyes far away.

"People who have had to be too strong are rarely happy," Fife said, her face now somber, "and challenges also show just how much cowardice there can be in the world. You saw a soldier in Mags, yet you'd have to kill her in the Games. Doesn't that bother you?" Her voice grew harsh. "Do you really need _the Hunger Games_ to find challenge? Why not something that doesn't involve the murder of kids?"

"Enough," Mags snapped. This was taking it too far even if Fife's arguments were quite valid. "We deal with the situation, not 'what ifs'."

"Fife is just trying to show us how clever and observant she is," Constantine said coolly.

A flash of anger entered Fife's eyes, she opened her mouth, her lips set in a snarl, but seemed to change her mind. She swiftly turned her back to them and went to check on her supplies.

Mags narrowed her eyes at Constantine. Today's reaping had maybe been the worst moment of Fife's life and for all they knew, her district partner had been a friend. Constantine was dangerous in his dismissal of people and human life. This was something she would expect a Capitolite to say. Yet as she spared Gyan's trembling form a glance, she knew that regular decent people couldn't make it. She would work with Constantine and Fife, and try to bring out the best in them. Somehow.

Fife lowered her gaze and sat on the floor. "Sorry," she muttered as she emptied her bag. "Take mine, Gyan. I'll sleep between two covers."

Luckily a bedroll was one of the few things Gyan had forgotten to take. The boy from Three had a glazed look and a small dopy smile on his face. Mags spared him a longer glance, making him blush. He was thin and light but not starving either. Maybe he was just sensitive to narcotics. He smiled but didn't say anything when Fife threw him the bedroll. He clumsily undid it and draped it around himself, curling in a ball.

"I…"

"No, Constantine," Fife gently said, "it's warm and I've slept on roofs more times than I can count. You'll have many occasions to be gallant when it matters."

At least Fife didn't seem to hold grudges. Mags felt a burst of relief.

"Logical assumptions about Constantine being wealthy aside, what kind of family did you two grow up in?" Mags said as she organized their bundled supplies in more neat piles.

"My father invests in promising undertakings. The Aquila name is an indicator of taste and quality. We have enough servants and property to be considered a prosperous family," Constantine said with unconcealed pride. "My mother oversees all peacekeeper deployment and activities in the Southern Sector."

Mags nodded slowly, her face carefully blank. They sounded like a family who thrived under Capitol dominion. But family was family, and she couldn't condemn Constantine for taking pride in his. She was deeply disturbed that wealth and power seemed the sole source of this pride but decided she had to dig first, to see what personality lay hidden behind that_ over posh upbringing_, as Fife has said. The more critical part of her hoped she wasn't finding him excuses because of his outlandish highbrow manners and all too handsome features.

She failed to keep suspicion out of her tone at her next question. "Did you train after the seventh Games or was it already part of your education?"

An indulgent smile graced Constantine's lips, but he didn't seem to be mocking her. "I knew how to wield a sword before the rebellion ended. An interesting life and a complete education begets more skills than dutifully attending training courses. The one advantage of the new center is the ready supply of opponents."

"Anyone good enough for the illustrious heir of House Aquila to be called your friend?" Fife said with a thoughtful expression.

Mags' mouth split into a small smile at Fife's sheer nerve.

Constantine gazed down at the boyish girl. "Yes, but it isn't training skills that make a person worthy but the ability to live without compromising one's values."

"Well spoken," Mags approved, surprised. They probably would disagree on which were the right values, but it was a start. At least Constantine didn't seem the type who would try to kill them without warning.

"I don't ask nosy questions to make him look bad just because he gets more birthday presents that I do, that would be childish. See, with one answer he won ten respect points," Fife said with a smug grin. She sobered slightly. "Should one of us stay awake?"

Mags shook her head, happy that Fife was so cooperative. "No. No guard turns. It's pointless in the dark. I'll bar both the front door and this one. I will wake if a window is broken."

"Dude, you know your stuff," Gyan said, nodding in drowsy appreciation, "just keep the ants off our stuff."

Fife cracked a smile. "Sleep before your arm starts hurting again."

Mags' eyes swept the ground. She doubted even creatures as resilient as ants had to be common in these hellish ruins.

"We should beat our clothes before the dust sticks," she added, shooting the now curled up boy an apologetic glance. She didn't want to riddle their sleeping bags with more filth than necessary.

"I will not comment if you ladies disrobe to sleep," Constantine said with a small mischievous smile.

Fife coughed, hiding a slight blush.

Mags grinned at him, hearing no malice in his flirtatious tone. "Another time, Handsome. We might need to run at a moment's notice."

Her smile fell when she remembered the three were only temporary allies. In the end, they were together to use each other. The Hunger Games were no place to bond.

* * *

Mags sat up before her eyes had opened.

"It's okay," Gyan whispered, "I just really need to pee. I'll be careful."

She let her head fall back against her scarf, uncomfortable from the dry heat, but sleep had learned to come when she asked.

_She is standing on a rolling coral chariot in her azure dress, a puffed-up Delphin trying to look impressive by her side. Her eyes are fixed on the coliseum track where other chariots are trailing hers, one after the other. She ignores the sand that whips her face, accustomed to strong winds._

_A cracking voice pierces through the clamor "Synthra, what's wrong?"_

_An agitated curly-haired boy fails to grab his staggering district partner. The girl loses her balance. Mags watches in silent horror as she collapses on the beaten track._

_The young teen who'd screamed wildly gestures at the chariot behind him. "Move!" _

_The crowd's gasps and laughter soon swallow any other noise. The wheat-colored chariot barely avoids the stunned girl. Mags stiffly stands still, her heart racing. She cannot afford to play the hero for a condemned tribute. The Capitol mustn't be allowed to see her as a threat._

_Her eyes dart to the sides, hoping against hope that the Capitol will send assistance. Instead, she sees a colorful figure topple from the penultimate chariot. The vehicle moves out of the track and comes to an abrupt stop. A dark-skinned young man with a fierce expression is holding the reins._

_He jumps to the ground, hurrying to cradle the pretty blond girl in his arms._

_Ignoring the moaning chariot-driver on the ground, his grinning district partner helps the two back up and flicks the reins. The chariot speeds off again. The Capitol isn't laughing anymore_.

Mags shifted, half-asleep, annoyed even her dreams brought her back to the Capitol and that now the sight of the tributes had given her mind further fodder to disturb her sleep. Those dreams had been frequent ever since she had decided to volunteer, but she deeply missed her mother's dark eyes and confident smile. She wished the night would soothe her instead of exacerbating her fears.

An alarming detail pierced through her early morning haze.

She hadn't heard Gyan come back in.


	4. Sewers

Mags bolted to her feet. Dawn light was filtering through the ajar door. She pulled her boots on and grabbed her pike, her heart hammering in her chest. Except for the now stirring Fife and Constantine, the creaking house seemed deserted.

"I'm going to the bathroom to check on Gyan. He went there when it was still dark. I hope he fell asleep in it," she said, running a hand through her golden-brown hair to remove the heavy dust that coated the floor. She refused to let her imagination run wild.

The stench of mold and rancid water mixed with chemicals made her wish she had taken her scarf. She then gasped, her stomach rebelling for reasons other than the smell. Gyan was lying limp, his cheek resting on the corroded bathtub's edge and one of his hands in the filthy water.

Mags grabbed his head, horrified to see drops of water on his lips. His round cheeks were pasty and blue.

She stifled a scream, wiping her hand frantically on her dress. What had possessed him to drink it?

She kicked something light as she stepped back from the corpse. The pack of morphine was half empty at his feet.

Constantine grabbed her shoulders as she stumbled. "He committed suicide?" He muttered, pulling her away from the corpse.

Mags was shaking with shock and fury. "He took too much. We didn't supervise him enough! He spoke of ants. He was already hallucinating before and we didn't pay attention! There was no light, he just felt water and drank. He wasn't in any state to think."

"What an idiot," Fife said, still in the corridor, her voice the barest whisper. "We need to get out of here, _please_."

No, _they were the idiots_. They were in the middle of poisonous ruins and they'd not done anything about one of their companions acting odd. They hadn't even had the sense to hide the morphine from him. Stress wasn't an excuse for such a criminal oversight. Guilt gnawed at Mags' very bones. Every other reaped tribute had to die, but not like this, not when she had promised Gyan the day before.

"We cannot leave the body to dust and decay," Constantine said, not letting go of Mags' arms. Mags was irrationally glad for his physical support.

"Then wrap him in a cover, say a eulogy and collapse a wall over him, Constantine!" Fife put her face in her hands. "Sorry," she whispered after a few seconds, her voice calmer, "I'll get the supplies."

* * *

Fife was the only one crying openly. Mags face was tight, but she had lost too many people to grieve for a virtual stranger. Now that she was over the initial shock, bitter disappointment darkened her features. She should have paid attention.

"Gyan told us everything he knew about this place. He had outlived his usefulness within nightfall. Today we do not mourn a productive member of our team, but an innocent and cheerful boy who was overwhelmed by terrible odds."

The two girls gaped at Constantine in sheer disbelief. Upon consideration, Mags realized it was a pretty clever eulogy. She agreed that Gyan should not be remembered as an endearing tool but as a person who'd once had loved ones and a future. She found her opinion of Constantine rise.

"For someone raised to keep appearances, you can be brutally honest," she nevertheless said.

Fife laughed, a nervous hysterical laugh. "That was literally a moronic death, Dude," she whispered.

Mags blinked back tears at the other's heartbroken words. She clasped the short girl's shoulder. She wouldn't make the same mistake twice. "Do you trust yourself, Fife, or do you want us to monitor you until you feel better?"

Fife chuckled again, clutching Mags in a brief hug. "Let's just get away from the dead. I'd run the stress off, but here it's suicide. Just treat me normally. It's not the first fresh corpse I see, I'll get over it."

Mags frowned at the revelation, realizing Fife had avoided questions about her home life the night before. This was not the time to ask.

They walked in silence, staying close. Mags couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched.

"If we do not want children to grow up seeing corpses, the Capitol rule must endure," Constantine said after what seemed an age, as if muttering to himself.

Mags felt her temper flare. How dare he even consider accepting the Capitol's travesty of 'peace'! "We are kept poor, the products of our work taken from us to enrich people who don't need it. They don't allow us to travel to other districts, they decide our jobs for us, control all knowledge and monitor our opinions. People die every day in the districts because Peacekeepers can deliver punishments unchecked."

She didn't even bother to name the Hunger Games.

"Beatings are much more frequent than executions."

"Because seeing your loved ones thrashed bloody is so much less traumatizing than seeing a stranger shot," Mags snapped back sarcastically.

"There would be many fewer beatings if people followed Capitol law."

Mags blood boiled at the rationale. Even if there were no beatings, people would still be dirt poor despite producing enough to feed three families. The Capitol would not have burned Four's oceans if they had feared to starve. "You fought for the Capitol didn't you?"

Constantine froze."I was too young to fight," he said after a pause.

"Funny that, I was not."

Constantine raised his chin defensively. "I hadn't reached the age where I could make my own decisions. I did as I was told and was proud to. I was a child."

Mags smiled thinly. "But now you are old enough to choose even if what we objectively can do is limited."

The aristocratic boy looked very conflicted. "Peace comes at the price of submission. Rebellion is a terrible gamble. Either all rebel and endure massive bloodshed in the hope of success, or few dare to speak out at any given time, and children will grow having nightmares of their parents' whipped bodies. A cruel stalemate, which is in the Capitol's favor. How are we even sure another government would be better? You blame peacekeepers' cruelty, but they are not ordered to be crueler than what is lawful or advance faster if they are. They are what humans are when given power."

Mags shivered at having such terrible thoughts voiced out loud. A rebellion that would never come, a rebellion that would fail to truly change Panem. Her anger fled as she acknowledged the frightening truth in the young man's words. Her voice was gentle again. "That's why there needs to be laws to keep even the most powerful people in check. Everyone should have a right to be heard by our leaders." She sighed. "It's about what you feel is right, Constantine. You can't predict how people will react, or that what you do will truly make a difference, but you can remember that how we are living now is not right and that we should aim for better."

Constantine looked away, his grasp over his feelings slipping. "I cannot take pride in pointless action simply because it feels noble! The price is too high," he said, his lips twisting in a snarl. "That boy was nothing special. He was destined to die as soon as his name was drawn. I will not remember him for who he was. I never even knew him. I never wanted to care for him, but I will remember him because he died on us!"

Mags felt her heart constrict at the passion in Constantine's words. Maybe Fife had been right about his quest for greatness. He seemed rather numb to the problems the population faced, but also a shaken man who struggled to find a cause.

"You capture a room's attention just by existing, Constantine," Mags honestly said, "the rebellion needs leaders, and people like you can be what they need. They would follow you. Even if it is years before we can rebel again, people need others who talk of hope, who remind them that keeping their necks down is not the best they can hope for. We can't lose sight of the alternatives and let the Capitol break our spirit."

That's why teenagers in Four needed to be trained. She had left unsaid that he was dangerous, because if he became a Capitol advocate, he would be just as followed.

Constantine had straightened. His expression was distant once more. Mags hoped her words had been heard.

"It was warmer yesterday, no?" Fife said, looking much better.

That she had just interrupted them to talk about the weather was nevertheless suspicious. Mags shared a pointed glance with Constantine before lifting her eyes skywards.

She felt a shiver run unbidden up her spine. The blue sky of the day before had given way to menacing dark clouds. Mags had never forgotten what true fear felt like. The fear when confronted to a force so much greater than you that all your efforts seemed a pathetic attempt at delaying the inevitable. That long buried feeling was slowly resurfacing, threatening to invade every inch of her being.

"We need to go underground. The rain falling will be poison. It will mix with all the filth we have here. We need to find sewers."

Fife's seemed to shrink on herself in fear. "Isn't that were all the toxic water will go?"

"People used the sewers in every district during the rebellion," Mags said, paying extreme attention to the girl.

Fife failed to conceal her surprise quickly enough. Evidently Fife had been shielded from the rebel action and her parents had either not been rebels or chosen not to share that aspect of their lives with her. Yet Mags knew that she was more the exception than the norm. Most families with young children had just hidden during the war. What bothered her more was how closed up Fife was, but Fife was the only reaped tribute among two volunteers and evidently the most shaken by recent events. Mags couldn't blame her.

"They're wide enough for people to walk while staying mostly clean. The boots should be enough protection," Mags therefore added.

"The rubber gloves might have been for the avoxes but rubber boots aren't adapted to most arenas. There were barely more pairs of boots than tributes. Do you think everyone would have found a pair the right size for them?"

Fife's words made Mags frown. "You think they measured our feet somehow, to send us straight to the arena this year? The Capitol had seemed thrilled by the parade and the interview night last year," Mags said, unsure.

"Could they be watching us right now? What are the limits of Capitol technology?" Fife said, suddenly meek as a mouse despite the intelligence sparkling in her black eyes.

"I don't know," Mags admitted, aching for directions, for anything to reassure them they weren't already doomed. She vowed never to reveal her reason for volunteering, even if she thought she was safe. Already she regretted the discussion she had just had with Constantine. She had given too much away.

"I believe this is an entry," Constantine said, anger evident on his features. He liked the idea of being manipulated as little as Mags did. His eyes were critically sweeping over the mass of what had once been a modest house.

"I'll see if there are tools, those big buildings may have been factories," Fife said, looking thrilled to be able to make herself useful. "I'll whistle every minute unless there's a problem."

The girl vanished, twisting like a snake between collapsed beams. Mags found herself holding her breath, exhaling only when the low whistles resounded in the silent ruins. Soon the two waiting tributes heard clanking amidst the whistles. Fife returned with a bucket full of odd tools and metallic junk, wiping dust off her face with a free hand. She grinned. Mags felt her face instinctively respond. Fife was secretive, but Mags was inordinately relieved to have such competent company.

Mags was astonished to see Constantine elegantly presented his gloved hand to Fife, palm turned upwards. Fife arched her eyebrows but picked a handful of wires from the battered bucket and handed them over. The aristocratic young man shot them a look that could only have been described as mischievous before fitting a thick wire in the lock. Her jaw almost dropped as she heard the lock click.

"Where does the heir of a reputable house like yours learn to pick locks?" She said, eyeing him strangely. She didn't know what to believe anymore. Fife's mouth had split into a wide appreciative grin. Mags had never seen her look so amused. At least the two seemed to be getting along reasonably well now.

Constantine's eyes were far away.

* * *

**Constantine's POV**

_Cereus was already waiting for him in the deserted side-street, a large bag slung across his shoulder. His relaxed posture was a sure indication that something was afoot. The blonde had a brittle alertness to him when he wasn't preoccupied. Apprehension and excitement warred for dominance with every step Constantine took. Cereus was not predictable for never seemed constrained by the boundaries that limited others' actions._

_The cloth bag moved._

_Constantine arched an eyebrow at his best friend._

_«It's Leo, » Cereus whispered, a righteous cast to his features. « You know, the child. »_

_Constantine's lips twitched, awe making his aristocratic features soften. Other people were disappointing, so petty and limited. Kind people predictably turned to cowards when faced with decisions which threatened their miserable mundane lives. They were weaklings who secretly craved power and turned to superficial morals to feel superior. Cereus had none of those faults. He followed what his conscience dictated, no matter the risks. He was a good person, maybe the only one Constantine knew._

_Two week before, childish wails of pain had interrupted their stroll on De Medeci Avenue. _

_Where others would have hushed their fledgling conscience by mourning the cruelty of the world, Cereus had not forgotten. Constantine deeply regretted having missed the sight of his best friend swooping in like a guardian angel and, mindless of consequences, kidnapping the abused child._

_"Have you found a good family? Tassel has removed him from the reaping ledger and gave me two days to give him Leo's new name."_

_Cereus clapped him on the back and flashed him a grin. "I have. Hurry, they'll have peacekeepers on our tracks soon."_

_He was pointing at the sewer outlet on the side._

_Constantine paused, his thin lips twisting in disgust. "Through the sewers?"_

_« Leo has more scars than those careless self-styled Careers. He can't stay and we can't be seen. »_

_Constantine straightened. Adrenaline flowed through his veins as the prospect of giving the stolen child to a deserving family. Only fools and cowards claimed that nobility and adventure were a thing of tales. He had been born for moments like these._

_He lifted the heavy metal disc and jumped down, soaking his varnished expensive shoes in filthy water. He'd have to give Coraline a suitable excuse. His governess was a mere servant, a gullible one who worshiped him, but she remained deserving of his affection and respect. Cereus gently lowered the wide-eyed silent child down and handed the other boy a set of lock-picks. The large sewer canals were blocked by twin locked steel gate. _

"_I've bought a map. Rebels used these all the time." Cereus' lips twitched. "I'll buy you a drink if you open the door first."_

_Bought a map of the sewers. As if it was of no more concern than buying new clothes._

_Constantine chuckled, accepting the challenge. Cereus gave a whole new dimension to existence._

* * *

Constantine locked the sewer door behind them. The two young women were still eyeing him expectantly.

"Coraline told me stories when I was a toddler. Maybe we will sleep more fitfully if we share tales tonight," he said.

Mags was very comely when she wore that soft expression. It was almost as if she wanted to apologize. Constantine straightened with polished elegance, not letting his satisfaction show.

"Cool," Fife said, "don't worry, we won't get lost." Her lips twitched. "I won't at least, so don't lose me. Let's go."

Constantine raised his eyebrows slightly. He hoped Fife wasn't boasting and allowed himself to feel relieved. They had no map and who knew what dangers lurker in the sewers of a ghost town.

"Set the torchlights on minimum," Mags instructed.

_Yes, Ma'am_. Constantine found it more and more difficult to remember the girl from Four was younger than he was. It seemed nothing could distract her from her goal. She never failed to keep them, with a stern word or by constructive action, from getting sucked by the horror of their situation. He doubted many of the girls he knew would keep their dignity, let alone their authority, in such mismatched attire, although the azure dress hugged Mag's feminine form quite pleasantly, not that he'd ever be so crass as to be caught watching.

He turned back to Fife, who was much less charming in her carefully soot-covered avox uniform but who had proven there was more to her than a plain figure. He kept his voice low despite the rumble of running water. "Is your sense of orientation an innate talent?"

"I have spent over half my life on the city streets."

Constantine frowned in interest. He liked the unexpected. "Aren't most of Nine's workers machine operators? What kind of job would have you in the streets?"

Fife smiled thinly. "Few people choose the streets. I render what services I can. Some of us inherit the responsibility of financial empires, Aquila, but others have to build their own lives brick by brick, from scratch."

Constantine straightened defensively; angered that all would presume to know how he would live his life. His father could never find out how skeptical his sole heir was about following his footsteps. While Constantine never tired of listening to his father narrate his masterful political achievements, he hated trivial concerns like managing wealth and lost his appetite just at the thought of wasting his days ingratiating himself to the insipid arrogant men who fancied themselves One's elite.

"You do not speak like a street urchin," he coolly pointed out. He would not be taken for a fool.

Fife's thin smile grew but failed to reach her eyes. "I do hope not. I was raised by literate people. Life is full of surprises and situations change."

Constantine grew silent, searching for a sensitive way to inquire further. Had she been recently orphaned?

"Can you two settle your issues when we're in a safer place?" Mags said, a hand on her hip.

Constantine met her striking green eyes and granted her a nod. She was right, as usual.

He spared Fife a last glance, highly irritated by her curious expression. An expression directed at the winding tunnels and swirling waters, not at him. Mags was obviously used to male attention but Fife was plain and poor, surely she was not used to have men of his caliber express interest in her, and yet the short brunette made Constantine feel he had to beg for information. It was highly irritating. He hated being ignored.

Soon he felt a hand squeeze his arm. "Won't you'd trust me with the real reason you volunteered?"

Fife's testy expression drew a small smirk from Constantine. Wasn't she stubborn. He hadn't even told Cereus. Volunteering was the most impetuous decision he had ever taken. One he could not afford to regret. "Just memorize the paths we're taking."

He decided he preferred a challenge over an uninteresting ally any day. There was no urgency, Fife was not the kind of girl he would risk losing his head over. She was simply a puzzle that had sparked his interest.

Mags pointed sigh reached his ears. Constantine's eyes widened innocently.

Their leader just grinned. "Don't exhaust each other with your mind games. We have a long way to go."

Constantine didn't deign to answer despite the twitch to his lips. Mags' smile was a warm sight but he resented being called immature, no matter how charmingly.


	5. Rebels

**Thank you so much for reviewing. To avoid clotting up the AN, I will only answer Guests who ask for a reply or who have explicit questions and usually remove the answers a month after the chapter is uploaded.  
**

**Mags' POV**

* * *

The rain had no intention of stopping, crashing on the mud and stone overhead like thousands of death-tipped needles. Fife's sense of direction was a gift of fate. They had probably walked only a single mile in the right direction since they'd entered the sewers, but considering the amount of collapsed tunnels and the seemingly unending number of levels of Three's underground, Mags was astonished that they were not lost.

Mags had never seen anything like it. She wondered if Three had built this maze to prepare for the last rebellion. It was immense beyond belief.

They hadn't dared go deeper than the third level, staying close to the surface and struggling to forget the suffocating stench of rot. The suburbs above them hadn't been so much poisoned as razed to the ground. Mags still had to catch a glimpse of an intact house. She spotted a few damaged radioactive waste disposal canisters floated below one of the broken entrances. Mags' insides grew cold at the thought of traveling in a highly radioactive zone. Unfortunately, they could not go faster. The young woman's lips twisted into a snarl at her feet crushed a disgustingly familiar type of brittle bone.

She saw Fife's frown. "Mutt bones, shards of them," she said, deep-rooted hate twisting her lips into a snarl. "They rot at an incredible speed. No mutts in Nine?"

Fife shrugged. "Maybe, but not in the village I spent the Dark Days in. My parents didn't let me out much."

Mags kicked at the bone dust, letting her golden-brown hair shield her face from the other girl's eyes. Capitol propaganda wanted the war to be known as the Dark Days, but Mags would never use the term. Fife seemed rather mild about the Rebellion for someone who had lived it, and she still avoided every question. Mags disliked feeling misled but did not wish to press the issue. She would take her companions' qualities and ignore the faults that didn't endanger her survival. There would only be one victor and learning to care would not make the Capitol change its rules.

"Quiet," Constantine suddenly said.

Fife had already frozen.

Mags felt the childish urge to cross her arms. While the last eight years of her life had admittedly not needed her to be in a high state of alert, she suddenly felt goofy compared to her two companions.

She smelled the man before she saw him. She winced, appalled to see a human being living in such dreadful conditions. It was the Capitol's fault for forcing radical rebels to live hidden in filth. A sneering youth walked out of one of the tunnels. His skin was unhealthy and pale with oily black tangles falling around his hostile face in strands; but that wasn't surprising considering the environment, it was instead the glassy covetous shine to his pale eyes that made Mags' hair rise on end. She was more distraught than afraid. The boy was armed with a metal bar, but Mags doubted he would overpower them.

"We're just passing through," Constantine said curtly, his lips curled in disgust as he towered over the stooped… _scavenger._

Mags now understood the unflattering appellation. Her face clouded over at the memory of Gyan. She held tight to the belief of a justice force in the universe, something to right all the wrongs that clawed at her soul. That belief gave her faith in the future and kept her stoic. She was torn from her dark thoughts by the youth's aggressive cackle. His disgust matched their own as he gazed up the ostensibly privileged Constantine.

"Weasels have come before. We never let 'em slither back to their holes."

_Weasels?_

"We weren't sent by the Capitol, our train crashed," Mags said, careful not to let the filthy young man's attire, his graceless posture or his stench affect her manners. He had chosen to live in filth and poison rather than under Capitol law. As a child, Mags would have found this heroic. Now, she was just saddened. It felt so pointless and just showed that the Capitol had won: outlaws struggled to hold to shreds of material dignity.

"Aww, poor little donkeys," the skinny youth spat, revealing yellowed teeth, "I pity you, really. So weak, accepting them as masters. You don't deserve more than pity."

Mags bristled, feeling her cheeks burn with anger. How could he, barely older than them, be so condescending? The rebellion had been about freedom and justice, not about feeling superior to the rest of humanity. She refused to feel guilty for living well. The good in her life didn't come from the Capitol and living like this boy would not harm the Capitol. If too many people fled the districts, the Capitol had the means to round them up before it became a problem.

"If you believe only a select few deserve freedom, you are like the Capitol," she said harshly, "just less wealthy."

The boy straightened and balled his fists menacingly. "Freedom gotta be earned! We fought, bled and starved. Only parasites and filth strut around like the foul thieves they are. It's not okay to live like you do."

Mags' face reddened with ebullient fury. "We are not the Capitol! And saying the Capitol didn't fight is an insult to every district citizen. How dare you imply we lost against an idle foe! Did you really fight? It's easy to speak now that the war is over."

He felt righteous about being an outlaw, fair enough. But being masters of their own lives under a fair government, not living free in places so bad even peacekeepers stayed away, was the real goal. And Mags _hated_ being accused of collaborating.

The boy snarled, his grimy hand reaching for her scarf. He yelped in pain as Constantine intercepted him and twisted his arm, open disgust on his features.

"This is what you fought for? To take pride in your coarse hostility and molest women with impunity? Scurry away, lowlife!"

The scavenger seemed to wilt before the heir of House Aquila, as if forced down by an invisible hand. Mags was torn between gratefulness and telling Constantine off for being full of misplaced nobility. Coarseness wasn't the issue and condescension worked both ways.

Fife pinched her, hard. "Keep silent or we're dead," she mouthed, her black eyes darting towards the half dozen people now walking towards them. Mags started, not having seen them approach. The men wore simple shifts over their trousers but were much cleaner than the scavenger boy. The two women wore simple long sleeveless dresses, their hair loosely covered by colored scarves.

The boy hissed and scurried away, nursing his bruised arm.

The first man spoke up, one large hand on the shoulder of the only hunched, hooded figure. "Very well, then you should prove your loyalty."

He seemed at first glance less hostile and more educated than the youth, with a pleasant voice and a well-kept thick beard, but Mags still tensed at the challenge in his tone. She forced her temper back under control.

"You three are fighters who don't serve the Capitol, you say? Prove it," the bearded man added. "This man was a peacekeeper, sent as an infiltrator."

He yanked the hood off his companion and pushed him to the floor, revealing a sickly youth wearing simply a rag for modesty. The prisoner struggled to rise, a low growl of pain escaping his cracked lips. He crumbled back to the floor. Crusts of blood caked his scraggly beard. Mags winced at the brutality of the blonde's cuts and bruises. She held no love of peacekeepers but her stomach churned at the abuse. Despite her family's efforts to preserve some of her innocence, the child had witnessed horrible crimes during the rebellion. In that, they had truly been Dark Days. No matter how beautiful the ideals, war could bring forth the worst in people.

"Kill him."

Mags' lips parted in shock. _What?_ She shot Constantine a desperate glance. Surely with a family like his, he knew all about diplomacy, but the more realistic part of her knew the rebels would see him as she had: too wealthy to be worthy of trust. Even the dust and grime could not conceal how rich his clothes were. Mags could imagine thousands of reasons why the rebels would need to torture a peacekeeper and she figured they'd taken his clothes for their own use, but making _them_ kill him was simply cruel. Couldn't they do it themselves?

To her surprise, it was Fife who spoke out.

The short-haired girl was eyeing the rebel speaker shrewdly. "You think the Capitol cares about the life of an already condemned peacekeeper? If we were spies we'd do it without hesitating."

Mags slowly exhaled, hoping Fife could talk them out of this trap. Mags would kill if she had to, but the demand was absurd. What would they ask of them afterwards?

"We know you didn't come here on orders. But you're not the first to find us and we don't have the resources to host beggars with weak-stomachs."

"There can't be an endless supply of peacekeepers to capture. Who do your teenagers kill to show their worth?" Fife said.

Mags blanched. She really didn't want to know. A person could be worthy without being a murderer, even in a war setting.

The woman next to the bearded man let out a chiming laugh. Her strong cheekbones and set jaw gave her a no-nonsense air that was hard to ignore. "I am Chickaree, Wanderlings. You have only seen Scavengers, those who do not accept our rules and believe they are too special to be affected by the fumes. We'd have been found long ago if we were all like them." Her shining gray eyes weren't hostile but they possessed a hardness Mags rarely saw anymore. "Kill him, we have our reasons."

Fife blinked, her attention on the broken prisoner. A pleading light entered the man's azure eyes.

Before Mags could intervene, the brunette had stepped forward and pulled a knife from her belt. Metal pierced through skin and muscle. Fife lifted her foot to the crouched man's chest and pushed hard, freeing her bloodied weapon from his swollen chest.

The stench of blood assaulted Mags, thrusting her back to another time, a time where she had lived in fear and bravely struggled not to be a burden as her family joined the guerrilla. Her insides clenched and she instinctively edged back, fighting the urge to curl into a ball, waiting to be told it was over or to be dragged to safety. She stiffened, raising a hand to her mouth. That time of her life was over. She had no devoted parents to rely on here. She could not falter.

A low whistle brought her back to reality. The group of rebels was eyeing Fife with appreciation. The girl had the gall to bow with a flourish before wiping her knife on the dead man's ragged coat.

Mags latched on a circumspect-looking Constantine's arm, feeling she would punch the shorter tribute if her hands were not occupied. Mags was the daughter of soldiers, soldiers with blood on their hands, and it wasn't the knife thrust she blamed Fife for. But sullying one's hands to indulge the cruelty of others was foul and enjoying it unspeakable. She wondered how much of the real Fife she had seen until now. This was the girl who had pulled her out of the train and had cried at Gyan's death, but the blood stains on her hands were just as real.

"Now we run," Chickaree said, pushing a mahogany lock back beneath her purple shawl.

"You will not bury him?" Constantine said, tension giving a frightening undertone to his words. Mags tightened her hold on his arm, fearing what a display of fury would bring upon them. She also feared to lose sight of her priorities and betray her family and her district in a righteous fit of pique. She couldn't afford to.

Chickaree gazed at him fondly, as if he was a well-meaning naive child. "His soul will find his way. We do not spare the dead the resources we lack for the living. The ground is poison. We do not light fires for similar obvious reasons."

Mags was surprised to see Constantine grudgingly bow his head. Had he accepted the rational answer? She would have expected him to argue that at least they could move the corpse away from the middle of the corridor. Or had he just remembered, like she had, that he had promised to go home? Her allies were sometimes a greater mystery than their predicament.

They had no chance to ask more questions as they broke into a run in the badly lit tunnels grew more numerous and had a polished and often traveled feel to them. She couldn't both match the rebel's pace and pay attention to the path they had taken. She only knew they were going deep in the bowels of District Three. She shivered as the temperature steadily dropped with each level. At least the air tasted cleaner.

Fife was straggling, panting heavily. Mags could feel her tension crystallize in white-hot anger. _Faker_. The brunette had claimed she could run for hours without breaking a sweat and Mags was confident that the street-girl had told the truth. She knew that Fife was not downplaying her fitness to annoy her, but right now she wanted Fife to be troubled and upset, not to find clever ways of memorizing the sewers' layout.

Mags lost track of time, focusing only on her regular breathing and on the better lit granite tunnels. Minutes gave way to hours. He legs were burning from strain.

They abruptly came across a reinforced concrete wall.

The wall opened, sliding in itself. It defied anything Mags had ever seen.

The trio had no time to gape, for they were off again. The putrid smell of rot and humidity was completely gone. The air was warmer, dry and pleasant. The walls were of a material Mags couldn't identify. Many were decorated with striking daily life scenes.

Soon their steps were not the only ones echoing in the underground. People moved to let them pass. The men were all bare-chested and the women had similar shifts and head-wear to Chickaree's. They were lean but not ill-nourished. Their skins were of the palest white, often displaying scars that sung tales of vicious conflict. All but the few teenagers bore inscriptions on their chests and limbs, but they were very different from the explicit symbols that adorned the back and arms or Four's sailors. Looking closer, Mags could see patterns to the inked symbols. Signs of family lines or badges of honor, Mags could only guess as she avidly stared at the muscled men and women who populated this hidden world. Hope made her smile despite the horrible test they'd had to pass. Rebels. Real rebels.

"Cloth is even scarcer than water," Chickaree said, "why cover what we can proudly display? Striking are they not?"

Suddenly self-conscious, Mags shut her gaping mouth and tore her eyes off the rebels' bare bodies.

"Hair spoils earlier than cloth, and civilized people do not abandon all vanity," Constantine answered, with a small smile of his own as his eyes lingered pointedly on Chickaree's headwear.

"Beauty makes people happy," Chickaree replied with a tight-lipped smile, her hand gracefully readjusting her purple scarf. Mags suddenly wondered if her teeth were as pretty as her hair. Great engineering and dignity could not erase how poor the rebels had to be. No place in Panem was self-sufficient and these isolated people had to lack of everything. How did they get food and fresh water?

The bearded man who had first ordered them to kill had removed his shirt, revealing bullet scars and equally elaborate markings. He addressed the now silent crowd in a booming voice. The assembled people numbered over a hundred, maybe two. "Watch them, remember them, do not kill them. There are at least a dozen survivors among the children sent to die for the Cestoda in the ruins. Signal us if you hear from them."

Constantine made a strange noise with his throat.

"Oh dear educated gentleman," Fife whispered with a charming smile, "what does their pet name for the Capitol mean?"

"Tape worms," Constantine muttered, looking conflicted.

Despite her tension, Mags stifled a guffaw. Seeing civilized rebels was a like a hot bath. A broad smile graced her lips. The Capitol would never win.

"Follow me," Chickaree said, already near the first scrap-material bench of the big plaza. It looked like a meeting place, large enough to hold a thousand people. A soft warm breeze caressed their faces.

"Do you have an economy or must the leaders distribute everything?" Fife said as soon as she reached the woman's side.

Chickaree's warmth fled, replaced by a piercing gaze. "Although this I can share, questions by strangers are not welcome here. People own what small tokens they find and, in small measure, what they build, if only to show our appreciation of talent, but we have no currency between ourselves and there is little difference between the richest of us and the poorest, barring those who have grown too unstable."

"You're the leader?" Fife said, looking fascinated.

Mags almost sighed. This girl wouldn't get 'no questions' unless forcibly restrained.

Chickaree laughed. "No, I just enjoy talking and boasting to wanderers." Mags couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic. The rebel stopped before a guarded tunnel concealed by a curtain and brought a fist to her heart in salute. "You'll wait here. Don't damage the books."

_Books?_

She stepped behind Constantine in the tunnel which revealed itself to be a huge cave-like room with an impossibly high ceiling. She gasped. The whole place was covered in shelves of various materials, from dented metal plates to wide cloths held taut between two poles, and every shelf was covered in books.

"So that's where the libraries of Three went…," Mags muttered in a light tone, her posture betraying her awe.

"Cestoda aside, they know we are tributes," Constantine said, a serious expression on his face. "We were right about being watched in the ruins."

Mags' lips twitched again despite herself. _Cestoda. _She then frowned. If they had known, why test them? Did they fear the reapings had been rigged? Everything was possible with the Capitol.

"That other crazy boy, you think he had an education here? I wonder how tolerant they are of ungifted troublemakers," Fife said, carefully picking up one of the books.

Mags narrowed her eyes. "_I _am wonderingwhy you don't look upset."

Fife froze and slowly put the book back on its shelf. Her voice was cooler than Mags had ever heard it.

"As you've come to suspect, I am pretty decent at hiding my feelings. Why would you expect to be able to read my moods? This is neither the time nor place."

"It might be the only time we are granted, Fife. What were you thinking?" Constantine said, his expression merely curious.

"It would have been hypocritical to feel good about myself for not killing a man who would have simply been tortured longer before being killed. He'd never have escaped. Our survival is worth more than a condemned _Capitol law enforcer_'s life. You both volunteered. The Games create exactly this kind of situations, so don't you dare get judgmental." Fife's eyes pointedly locked with Mags'.

"You _bowed_, as if it was a show," Mags said, struggling to keep her voice level.

Winning the Games had been Mags' best chance at making a difference. The stakes were not the same. She would never kill lightly.

"What's more important to you," Fife said, impatience creeping in her tone, "converting them to your ideals or surviving until we figure out what's going on and how to get home?"

How could the dark-eyed girl not even show guilt? Was she so used to committing murder that it barely fazed her? No one should just shrug off death. "Making us murder the peacekeeper was pointless. These seem reasonable people, maybe they've just become too desensitized to murder and should be reminded it's a big deal."

_They were rebels, maybe the only rebels. Of course their beliefs mattered!_

"So their beliefs matter more to you than any promises you made to family?" Fife said, looking more confused than angry. "You'd risk getting killed hoping they'd remember your brave attitude and change?"

"You are not just gifted. You practice, Fife Chican," Constantine interrupted, observing her with acute interest. "Lies and logic, wit and charm… Your weapon choice is unusual but you have honed your skills as much as any Career." He straightened, speaking with the curt but confident air of those used to being obeyed. "Enough ladies, we need to remain alert."

Mags walked up to the nearest books, repressing a sharp retort as she curiously fingered the covers. Maybe there were no right answers and she should take her own advice and forget this. She stretched her cramping legs. She hadn't pushed her muscles so hard since she had been trapped on the reefs.

"I think we're meant to sleep here. It was past midday when we started running…" Fife finally said.

She sighed as Mags' eyes lingered on her, a somber cast to her face. "I'm not happy that I killed a man, Mags. I don't see how brooding helps, unless you want me to look miserable to feel safe about sleeping next to me? But seriously, I could be faking it too."

Mags winced. The short-haired girl couldn't seem to be able to utter a single sentence without giving her a headache anymore. When had human interactions grown so complicated? Maybe Mags hadn't spent enough time around good liars, but the sheer effort of hiding your every feeling…. There was something in Fife's words that made her feel sad.

"How does friendship work for you if everything is a gamble and every word a mask?"

A ghost of a smile spread on Fife's lips. "It's rare. Just like for any other person. Usually, except for stung pride, people don't really care if a stranger's life story is truth or fiction. Truth simply remains more interesting and meaningful when you dig. "

Mags shook her head as she unrolled her sleeping bag. "I'd never forgive an acquaintance for using me as a guinea-pig to exert their imagination. People's lives matter because they are real. Being told something about someone matters because it is true, because that person believes you deserve that amount of trust."

"I agree. That's why I don't bother with small talk. Nor does Constantine, but he's an honest elitist, so I won't offend him by comparing the two of us."

"Aren't you cute," Constantine said, superb in his indifference.

Mags grinned, now more acquainted with his special brand of humor.

"Why would Three need a wall that slides deep underground? How could they have built that without the Capitol's notice?" Fife said after a pause.

Constantine's dark-brown eyes were glinting with a strange light. "Maybe it was there before the districts, before Panem."

Mags brushed her fingers against the library's concrete walls. Perfectly dry. A sense of awe permeated her as the realization she was in a, maybe the only, rebel bastion, finally sunk in. A large smile slowly drew itself on her lips.

Fife slid into her sleeping bag. "They could be very early risers. I suggest we eat as much as we want since I can perfectly picture Chickaree asking as to share what we have left as a token of goodwill or in the name of the greater freedom, and tuck in."

Mags reached for her supplies.

"What, nothing about it being selfish of me?"

This time, Mags didn't conceal her frown. Fife sounded serious despite her light tone. Maybe it was a game, maybe it wasn't. "Did you think I was lying when I said I was part of the rebellion? I learned to make sure I was healthy enough not to be a burden before looking out for others. Those who didn't rarely survived. Maybe food was no issue in Nine, but it was where I was."

And their supplies were too few to make a real difference for the rebels.

Fife blinked. She lowered her eyes. "Stupid question, I never did learn to shut up when I was tired… Good night, Mags, Constantine."

Too exhausted to ponder the day's events further, Mags quickly fell into troubled sleep.

_Mags is angry and curious. An odd mix of emotions, she distantly thinks. The scene before her captures her whole attention._

_A shimmering dress colored like autumn leaves covers the slight figure on stage from head to toe. A brilliant maroon veil conceals her face._

_The figure takes small graceful steps, as if oblivious to the thick anticipation and chatter animating the crowd. It's a peculiar crowd. They have wigs and ostentatious jewelry, excessive, almost frightening make-up and outrageous clothes. Mags tries to conceal her distaste, through the perfume, the place reeks of death. _

_The figure stands before the man in the glittering suit, her face still hidden from view. Her voice is deep for someone so slight. "Does anyone here know what I look like? Have you paid attention?"_

_Silence. The crowd seems entranced. Mags' interest is piqued and a distant part of her wonders where she is. She should know, but she feels odd._

_The figure slowly removes the veil, revealing an unremarkable but pleasant oval face surrounded by short dark brown hair. The dress drops with the veil and Mags' eyes widen. _

_Now clad in a tight-fitting black suit, the boyish girl slams a knife flat on the man's armrest. _

_A scream cuts the crowd. Mags chuckles even if she knows the knife is fake. She hates the now ashen man. A little voice in her mind wonders why she feels that way._

_"I could be anyone," the girl in black says, slowly circling the seated man like a cat toying with their prey. _

"_I have a secret, Marcus. Do you want to know?"_

_Enhanced by thick make-up, her dark eyes seemed to hold the key to hidden treasures. "Mother has always been special, gifted. She sees things people miss. The fates whisper to her. I have the gift, it's nascent, a hatchling, but Mother has been teaching how to listen, how to see beyond the veil of time."_

"_You mean predict the future? Can you see my future?" the man whispers, greed plain on his features._

_A soft laugh escapes her lips. "Where is your son, Mr. Flickerman?"_

_The man stiffens. "What about Caesar?"_

_Her voice is thick with warning. "Do not neglect him, for when the time comes, you will be the one seeking his favor."_

_She leaves unbidden as a bell chime cuts through the crowd's whispers._

Mags eyes opened. The object of her dream was sleeping on her back, oddly relaxed. She looked tiny and fragile, more like a child than like a person used to sleeping in the streets. Seated against the wall, Constantine met her gaze.

Mags' lips twitched. "Too well-bred to find sleep on a sewer floor?" Although 'sewer' was now quite inappropriate.

The handsome young man raised his chin with inimitable superiority. "My control over my body has yet to fail me. I am meditating."

Mags bowed her head, having no reason to doubt his word. He was oddly endearing in his superior way. He didn't try to shove his beliefs down her throat or demean them like other pretentious people she had met. The vivid dream hadn't faded. She'd never suspected her subconscious capable of such a feat before. She was both awed and unnerved by the sheer detail and logic of it.

Her eyes went back to Fife's sleeping form. The small figure concealed a killer and manipulator but also a sharpness, a fortitude and a dismissal of hard work that the young woman from Four respected deeply. Fife was slippery and her motives shrouded in shadows but she had enabled them to seek refuge with the true rebels. She sounded coherent within her own set of principles. Mags now doubted Fife had ever been a rebel, yet she behaved like one in her own self-centered way, never letting anyone dictate rules for her conduct. Mags found that she could sleep next to a person like that.

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**Trivia: names**

Mags (canon xD): pearl

Abalone: sea snails prized mainly for their beautiful shells composed of nacre/mother of pearl

Constantine: after Constantine I the great, founder of the Eastern Roman Empire

Aquila: eagle in latin, symbol of imperialism, also a constellation

Fife: an european medieval transverse flute

Chican: from chicane, deceit

Gyan: intelligence/enlightenment in Hindi (indian). People who've read my Showdown fic know I gave District 3 a strong indian minority.

Chickaree: squirrel and all attached symbolism (don't read too deeply into it though, parents give the names to their kids^^)


	6. The Citadel

**The play extracts come from Shakespeare's 'Taming of the Shrew'. I have no qualms about spoiling a 420 years old classic. Thanks for reviewing^^**

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They had no way to tell the time. Chickaree had yet to come but the trio was hardly impatient, on the contrary.

Mags' sides were aching from silent laughter.

The tributes sat on a cover, taking turns at reading an old play Fife had found on the dusty shelves. The language was archaic and the theme misogynistic to a fault, but hearing Fife and Constantine reciting with gusto was more than Mags could hope to handle with a straight face. They had reached the fourth act and the two were immersed in the play as if they'd been born comedians. The aristocratic boy especially had a vibrancy to his voice that made their surroundings fade away.

"Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported?"

"She was, good Curtis, before this frost; but thou know'st winter tames man, woman, and beast; for it hath tam'd my old master and my new mistress and myself, fellow Curtis."

"Away, you three-inch fool! I am no beast," Fife said, her intonation perfect despite the comical widening in her eyes.

"Am I but three inches? Why, thy horn is a foot, and so long am I at the least. But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mistress, whose hand (she being now at hand) thou shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office?"

Constantine's cheeks were flushed pink when he finished his lines. Fife's control shattered and she burst out laughing. "I hope you're not three inches, Constantine. Wealth can only compensate so much."

Constantine shut the book with a huff, struggling to keep a dignified bearing. "I knew I should not have accepted to play the servant's part."

"Rubbish, you're having even more fun than we are," Mags said with a grin, "please tell me Kate turns the table on her horrid husband in the end."

Constantine flicked through the pages up to the last scene. His eyebrows almost disappeared in his hairline.

"Hear, hear, ladies: ancient wisdom," he began with a devilish smile.

"Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,

Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,

And for thy maintenance; commits his body

To painful labor, both by sea and land;

To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,

Whilst thou li'st warm at home, secure and safe;"

"No way, Kate had a personality. She's just saying that to get him to lie off," Fife exclaimed, making a grab for the book.

Constantine's smirk broadened as he stood up to keep his arm out of the short girl's reach. He continued reading with greater glee than Mags found appropriate.

"And craves no other tribute at thy hands

But love, fair looks, and true obedience—

Too little payment for so great a debt.

Such duty as the subject owes the prince,

Even such a woman oweth to her husband; -"

"Close that up," Mags snapped playfully, unable to hide a pang of disappointment at Kate's closing monologue. "At least Panem is more civilized now on some matters than whoever wrote this."

Fife chuckled wryly. "Let's hold on to that and feel good about ourselves."

Mags punched the brunette's arm. "We have lots to do before we're allowed to feel good."

The other huffed. _Spoilsport_, her accusing glare said.

"Should we find a tome that doesn't paint women as inferiors and start anew?" Constantine said.

Fife rubbed her eyes. "I'd need better light. I haven't read so much in years. Maybe they want us to come out, just to show we're the ones who need them and not the other way around or something."

Mags rolled her eyes. Surely they were above such petty displays of power, especially with teenagers who were already stranded in their base.

"You came with little notice. I do have a schedule, Wanderlings."

Mags scrambled to her feet, only to see Chickaree standing in the entrance. Mags colored at the thought of Chickaree having heard Fife's suspicions. The woman was holding a box.

"Here is a five day's worth of food each for your supplies."

Constantine arched his eyebrows in silent question.

"Because the nutritional value is the same, it will take less storage space in your bags, but you'll make a lot of people happy since fresh foods seldom reach us," Chickaree said with a bright humoring smile.

Mags took the box, revealing a pile of wrapped brown biscuit-like cakes and smaller boxes full of colored pills. She felt guilty for having even considered the rebels might have stolen their supplies simply because they had not been very friendly. It would have been absurd for the rebels to welcome them with open arms. They were a liability at best and dangerous at worst. Chickaree had been gracious to let them in the precious library.

"In each box is a daily vitamin and mineral supply. The paste is mostly made from nuts and contains what sugar and fats your body needs."

"You have industries of your own here?" Fife said, her face shining with curiosity. "Those kinds of pharmaceuticals are manufactured in District Six."

Chickaree turned to face the shorter girl. The tightness in her smile was telling.

Fife lowered her gaze.

"Any questions that would not compromise my people's safety?"

Mags tensed, finding the woman's tone quite biting. A little understanding would have been welcome. They weren't here by choice and they'd had a rotten week.

Constantine was the first to speak. "Why did the Scavenger call us donkeys?" He sounded so serious Mags didn't dare laugh.

A small chuckle escaped Chickaree's lips. "Because you are the beasts of burden of the Cestoda, you toil for them and live miserable leashed lives."

Mags bristled at her patronizing tone. "Do you teach them to reach out, that rebellion still exists in the districts? That the war isn't over?" She challenged, the Scavenger's words vivid in her mind. Living free should not come at the price of being hidden. They had fought to topple the Capitol and shouldn't settle for anything less.

Chickaree's gray eyes flashed with warning, her voice unyielding as steel. "Anyone can find us, our presence is no secret for those who listen. Why should we ask even more of our citizens? Coming here means risking the Capitol's wrath, _that_ is why so few dare come. They're cowards."

Mags didn't back down, unable to forget the peacekeeper they'd had to kill. "Some people will never be soldiers. It is your responsibility to help free Panem since you have the ability, the resources and the strength to do it. You can't just stay hidden for the next three generations."

She stopped right there, realizing she was assuming a lot about the Citadel's resources. Why weren't more people coming to the Citadel, if it was common knowledge, at least in Three? It would indeed take more than a couple thousands people to start another rebellion, let alone win it. The Capitol numbered over a hundred thousands and Two was the second most populated district, after Eleven.

"Don't be naive," Fife said. "They're doing all they can. Ideals don't win a war or we'd not be here. They're miles ahead of any other rebel wannabe group in the Districts."

Chickaree inclined her head to Fife. "Precisely. We'll soon come for you. Use the brushes under the third shelf to beat the dust out of your clothes, you are filthy."

"We're out of the loop. She thinks we're idiots," Fife muttered once the woman had left.

Mags crossed her arms, resisting the urge to strike the girl. She could accept being called naive, but Fife's attitude belied her words. "So you didn't mean that?"

"Not entirely," Fife said, "you didn't know about the Citadel so I think that knowledge is much harder to get than Chickaree wants us to believe. I think they feel great about being The Rebels and don't think the rest of us _donkeys_ are worth the bother. But she can get us killed with one word, so please don't antagonize her."

So could the Capitol, but that had never make Mags abandon her ideals. Fear shouldn't keep people mute and it would be ridiculous for Chickaree to kill them for arguing with her in private. If Chickaree wanted to kill them, it wouldn't be for such a stupid thing.

"I agree with Fife," Constantine said in somber tones, "be careful, Mags, fanatics, rebel or Capitol, do not take well to being challenged."

Mags opened her arms in disbelief. "Why is she suddenly a fanatic? She's suspicious, she should be! Just because she's a little high-strung…"

"Better be too careful," Fife cut in, "them being rebels doesn't mean your goals are their goals. They could be radicals who hate the districts."

The use of _your_ instead of _our_ didn't escape Mags' notice, but maybe it should've made her happy, at least Fife was being honest about her priorities. "Fine. You just try to stop asking questions about everything."

The shorter girl blushed, making Mags feel petty. She was curious too.

"Aren't you impatient to make yourselves pretty for all those dreamy tattooed rebels, ladies?" Constantine said in a sing-song voice before handing them the brushes.

That tore a laugh from Mags' throat. "Don't let any of them try and steal us away."

"Don't worry, Mags. We're with the guy with the biggest sword," Fife said with a smirk.

Constantine shot her a withering glare. His hand then went to the weapon by his side. "They did not ask us to disarm."

"They're soldiers, no one's helpless here. I wouldn't be surprised if they have some firearms," Mags said, now impatient to leave the library. She hated staying idle.

"So… do we want to find the quickest route to the Capitol or do we stay here?"

Fife's question had the effect of a thunder shock. The thought they could be prisoners in all but name had not entered Mags' mind, but Chickaree had indeed little to gain by letting them leave.

The young woman sat back down and brought her knees to her chin. Could she be a rebel and nothing else? Could she let go of Mags Abalone, daughter of Angelites, sister of Esperanza and friend of Dylana and Marlin? People didn't just float around, devoid of attachments. Could she live without knowing if she would see the sea again?

"_Why can't Mama come with us, Dad?" _

"_Esperanza is much too small to follow us, Princess. We'll see her and Mum in District Four."_

"_So is Mags, Jasper. She should go with Angelites."_

"_I'm not too small! I've done everything like you!" _

"_Mags knows what we're fighting for. Every man woman and child who can fight should be taking a stand. "_

"_Everyone has an excuse otherwise, and no one will fight," Mags said forcefully, tilting her little chin up. She wasn't so small as not to understand what was said when her family set camp in the evenings."I'm coming too!"_

Her seven year old self would not have hesitated. Everything had seemed much simpler then.

"You're less invested in this cause than I am. What do you want?" Mags asked. She'd had it all planned out so well, volunteering, winning, training teenagers in Four…. Now she felt like she was swimming in a dark gelid sea.

"Why would that matter to you? The rebellion is greater than any individual, is it not?" Constantine said, running his hand on the blade of his sword.

Mags would have preferred to hear sarcasm in his tone. He was deathly serious. She felt weary to the bone. "We fight for people, not just ideals. The ideals exist to serve _people_ not the other way around. Throwing my life away, no matter how noble the reasons, won't help anyone."

"How about we cheat?" Fife finally said.

Mags' lips twitched at the other's forced cheer. "Sounds better than self-pitying."

Constantine's brow creased in suspicion. "You'll make a villain out of me yet."

"Says the guy who picks sewer locks," Fife said with a teasing smile. "There are no underhanded means when the cause is great."

Mags wondered briefly what it would be like to retain your own life more important than the freedom of a nation. Fife didn't seem to have a problem.

"We need to see what Chickaree wants and for this we need to mingle, sell ourselves. What can you do? Talents they would not have here," the brunette pursued.

"I can weave, baskets, knots and make hooks from anything, probably better than anyone," Mags said, not bothering with false modesty.

"Aside the obvious, I can paint," Constantine said.

Fife affected a dreamy sigh. "What an accomplished gentleman you make."

"My governess will not stop chattering, unless she paints, so I had her teach me." Constantine replied, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

Mags bit back a laugh, feeling some of her tension evaporate, of course he would have a _governess_.

Shadows of doubt and anger seemed to come alive in Constantine's dark eyes. "I am acquainted with peacekeeper drills and their latest equipment," he said after a tense pause, his harsh tone chilling.

"You'd tell them that?" Mags said, astonished he would go beyond all he had been taught, for them. It was an incredibly decent thing for him to do. She eyed him in new found respect. It took a great amount courage to recognize the beliefs you had grown up with were wrong.

Constantine's eyes were hooded as he looked away. "If peacekeepers are stupid enough to obey an order to storm this stronghold, their deaths won't be a great loss."

His dismissive tone was frightening. Mags doubted peacekeepers had much of a choice when ordered but she did not press. It was their best plan. The rebels would not welcome parasites so the trio would contribute and, hopefully, get answers. Mags wondered if it was truly cheating, since both her and Chickaree, differences aside, wanted the rebels of Three's underground to prosper.

"What about you, Fife?"

The short haired girl smiled, a hard smile. "I can tell stories, tell them how we live in the Districts now, or whatever Chickaree wants me to. Don't worry Mags," she said as the other girl's expression grew guarded, "I serve us, not them. I don't want them to despise the districts even more."

How many lies could one weave until they turned on you? Should they play in the rebel's hunger for information on the outside world like that? Mags finally nodded, deciding not to interfere. She fiercely hoped Fife knew what she was doing. She also hoped that Chickaree would ask for the truth.

Chickaree didn't keep them waiting long. She soon entered the library with a black-haired man in his thirties. Mags guessed he was a recent arrival, for while his back and arms were tattooed, his chest was bare, unlike any of the other adult males they'd seen. He stood behind the woman, very much like a body guard. Maybe this was a way to honor new members of their community; by showing they were trusted with the lives of eminent rebels.

"What now, Wanderlings?"

"We would like to contribute," Constantine said.

The three had agreed to let him speak. Fife lacked the charisma of her two companions and Mags lacked the aristocratic boy's _negotiating_ experience and would risk being flustered by unexpected questions. Fife had also insisted that a charming and handsome male would go further with Chickaree than any earnest female. Mags had wanted to object that Constantine looked too wealthy to be trusted by rebels, and was miffed to see the brunette had been correct. The auburn-haired rebel hardly made a fool of herself, but she seemed more relaxed and feminine than when she had talked to Mags. It bothered Mags to think that maybe Constantine had been correct and that any district dweller was considered a potential enemy.

"Very well," Chickaree finally said with a small appraising smile, "welcome to the Citadel."

Mags decided she was not one for double-dealings, power plays and deceit, but she couldn't deny its uses.

She belatedly realized as Chickaree introduced her to group of weavers that it could be days before she would see Constantine or Fife again. Unfortunately it was too late to protest. She repressed a shiver at the thought of being alone among these strangers.

She firmly shook hands with an gray-haired but agile-looking man.

"I'm Lars. Let's see what wonder the outside world brought us, lass," he said with a friendly smile.

"I'm happy to help, Lars," Mags replied, and, despite her nervousness, despite her fear of never seeing her family again, she meant every word.

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**Please review^^.**


	7. Tools

**Warning: Disturbing content (shocking imagery rather than violence). Reader discretion advised, I mean that T rating.**

**Thanks for your thoughtful reviews.**

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Mags had never thought it possible to learn so much and yet so little. She had spent the last forty-eight hours meeting a dozen artisans and doubted she had slept more than ten hours in total. She had been pleasantly struck by how happy people were to share their skills and how much pride they took in work well done. She saw no competition or arrogance, only people thrilled to learn.

There was little talk of I, people said _we_ and spoke in one voice. She wondered if expressing different opinions was frowned upon or if they simply did not debate with strangers to keep the peace, or out of respect for their mysterious leaders.

Or they just didn't trust her, which was the most logical answer even if it pained her not to have been given a chance. She knew it wasn't personal. They were tributes, they had been all but branded but the Capitol. Still, she felt like a starving man standing before a feast he couldn't touch. For the first time in years, she was among rebels who didn't have to watch their every word and action. There was so much to learn and she was kept in the dark. She hardly knew more about the way the people of the Citadel survived than she had on the first day, and she had learned almost nothing about the people around her. It left a bitter taste in her mouth.

In everything the rebels did there was a precise economy of movement and words, as if even the air they breathed was a precious resource. They had asked questions about _outside_, questions that amounted to how unhappy people were, how horrid the Capitol was. They didn't seem very curious about the existence of other rebels, which bothered Mags for reasons she herself couldn't pinpoint. Sometimes the man Mags thought of as Chickaree's bodyguard came to silently supervise and people got even quieter.

What she did learn was that the rebels numbered in the thousands. The Citadel could house ten times more, maybe a hundred times more, but she still had no idea of how many people they had food for. She had seen very few children. It was a city, with rooms and corridors, storage and baths. Constantine's theory on it dating to before Panem made greater sense every day.

Shortly after midday, the black-haired bodyguard gestured her forward. She stood up, leaving the watertight basket she had made on the plastic table.

"Chickaree wants you to come," he said.

"Should I clean up?" Mags said, anxious to have news of Fife and Constantine. She wished they would have been at least allowed to sleep in the same room.

"They'll do it."

Mags followed the man, her eyes roaming over his aquiline features and angular body. There was an air of familiarity she couldn't quite place.

"Are you from Four?" She asked, figuring it couldn't be very indiscreet.

"We are all rebels of the Citadel. We are united in the cause. Our origins only cause us grief."

"People bring their personal experience as well as their skills to the cause. Erasing our individuality is what the Capitol wants to do," Mags said, annoyed at receiving, word for word, the same answer as she had from the others.

The lean rebel turned his piercing stare to her. It was rather intimidating, having a half-naked man inches from her face.

He chuckled. "I was born in Four to a woman born in Ten. I officially died in District Eight after having lived years in Six. People do not evade questions out of spite, young lady, when the present is hard, it is too easy to live in the past or to get lost in dreams of a perfect future."

Was that another reason why there were so few children? People were wary of having no future to offer them? Mags envied him for having seen so much of the world. Now the borders were walled off and guarded.

"How did you reach the Citadel?"

It reassured Mags to think new people joined the rebels every year. At least people cared enough to get involved. She wished she had heard of this place earlier even if she doubted her family would have made the trip without more guarantees. That last thought made her insides clench from guilt. If even people like her mother and her would not come, who would join these rebels?

The man shrugged. "I escaped from peacekeepers, ran where they wouldn't go, and walked through the door, just like you did."

Mags repressed a resigned sigh. She had the distinct impression that he was making fun of her. She stubbornly refuse to let it go.

"Everyone seems to have a trade. You seem more like a guard."

"Everyone here works their hardest. It is only human to want other people to know you work hard. I watch them. Most of us have many tasks, to avoid getting bored."

Some kind of ego-flattering police? Odd. Mags' face darkened. She was starting to think like Fife, seeing schemes and lies everywhere.

"What do you think of the Citadel, Mags?"

Mags missed a step. He was the first person to actually ask for her opinion. She decided to be evasive for once. If he wasn't just being polite, he would press.

"I've never seen anywhere as efficient and the infrastructure is incredible. The people are friendly but very distant."

The man smiled. He didn't press. Mags swallowed back her disappointment.

She reached a maze of smaller corridors, each labeled with a grid of colors at crossroads. Her boots echoed against the concrete floor. A familiar polished baritone filled the air.

"The prettier the woman, the longer I can expect to be kept waiting."

"Considering I was here before you, I'm offended, Constantine."

"You take pride in leading people astray, Fife. You defy the rules."

A laugh echoed against the dark walls. "Nice save."

Mags grinned as her friends appeared, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off her chest. She chastised her brain. Not friends, _companions._

The two were standing next to a closed door. Chickaree greeted her with a polite nod.

"Had fun? I did propaganda for kids. I'll grant that it was pretty moral and logically sound for propaganda," Fife said brightly.

Mags laughed before she caught Chickaree's dark look. She bit her lip. She would hate to have her own beliefs dismissed as propaganda too and objectively, they were the ignorant ones. After all, Mags had lived under Capitol dominion for years, who knew what lies they had unwittingly come to accept as truth.

"Oh and, Mags," Fife continued, as if she hadn't noticed the sudden drop in room temperature, "When they leave the chest of a grown man bare it means his individuality surpasses the clan. This esteemed rebel is one of the very top guys."

Mags froze, slowly turning towards the 'bodyguard'. He looked torn between anger and amusement.

"Why did you reveal this in front of us?" He said.

"Because I respect you enough not to spy on the spy?" Fife replied with an innocent expression belied by her balled fists.

The man's lips broke into a scornful smile. "You hate following directions."

"Yes, it's a flaw I have," Fife said, her insolent tone now tinged with anger. "I like having the big picture. Note that I did do everything you asked, regardless."

"You are still alive, Fife," Chickaree said in level tones, her expression inscrutable.

Mags shared a loaded look with Constantine, not liking the byplay. She wished Fife hadn't felt the need to boast but another part of her felt a vindictive pleasure at showing that they weren't to be taken for fools.

"I'm Cresyl. I've been here over nine years," the man said with a small smile.

Mags kept her face blank, seething inside. He had only been watching _her_, not the other rebels. She was tired of being lied to. At least they could have said outright that they didn't trust her and wanted her supervised. She would have accepted it readily.

"I have something to show you," Chickaree said, opening the door for them. "It's not pleasant," she warned, her voice suddenly soft as she reached for the switch.

Yellow light filled what seemed to be a classroom. A large glass jar covered with a cloth rested on one of the desks. Chickaree was tense as she gingerly grasped the cloth with two fingers and pulled it back.

Mags felt her fingers dig into Constantine's arm. The lurch of her heart stifled her rising scream. Her free hand flew to her face as her eyes widened in horror.

"From your silence, should I look?" Fife said, her bright tone in sharp contrast with the grizzly scene before them.

"Warn us next time you instincts tell you to avert your eyes," Constantine said, his voice a harsh rasp. All color had fled his face.

"I'm sorry, I will. I promise," Fife said, her voice more subdued, "what is it?"

Mags stepped back unsteadily, her mouth opening and closing of its own accord. She rubbed her eyes, wishing to scrape the horrible sight off her retinas. It couldn't be real, it had to be some sick joke. Chickaree stiffly put the cloth back in place. Mags met her gray eyes and saw a flash of apology in them. _Why?_ Why show them? Wouldn't telling them have been enough?

"Guys, whatever it is, it's silent, so harmless. Stop freaking out and tell me."

_How little did Fife know._ Mags released her bruising grip on Constantine and took another step back.

"It was a human head, Fife. One of the tributes," the young man said in dangerously low tones.

A head had been floating in that jar, a pale head that had once belonged to a curly haired boy. The boy who had begged Vicuña not to leave them, the boy who had stayed next to the wreck, the boy who had shouted during the chariot rides in her dream. Mags stared at the opaque cloth. His neck had not been cleanly severed.

"District Eight, the boy. It was bitten off the body," Mags added hollowly, feeling nauseous. She almost collided into the shorter girl. Fife was staring pointedly at the door, her face gray.

"What! That was... Eight?" Fife brought a hand to her mouth, her eyes brimming with tears.

Mags took a labored breath and turned towards Chickaree. She forced her stiff face to articulate the words. "There were three people with him, what happened to them?"

"How did you come by... this?" Constantine said, barely audible despite the silence.

Chickaree failed to mask the tightness in her voice. "Get out of the room, Wanderlings."

The woman didn't have to ask twice.

"Scavengers found them. They like to eat what they find. We do not kill them because many were our brothers," Chickaree said, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. "The head was left for us to find."

The aristocratic boy's whole body was shaking with outrage. "Get all your people out of the sewers and give us flamethrowers. We'll get rid of these creatures!"

Mags paled further. What the hell was his fascination with fire? This was insane, they needed more proof before turning a whole population to ash. Even if the... _that_ had not been done by rats, maybe only a couple of the most depraved scavengers were responsible.

"Have your scouts seen any of the other tributes?" Fife said in a small voice.

"Two males leaving north-west. A larger group is still in the sewers. Our people report they are loyal to the Capitol but because of their young age we did not make ourselves known. The train wreck was pillaged. Atli's Scavengers are numerous and love trophies. They would not have accepted to part with this one, even to cause us grief, unless they had others," Cresyl said, his face twisted in hateful disgust.

Chickaree gently pushed the three further away from that awful room.

Mags could feel tears prickling at her eyes. _Trophies_. Death was death and it rarely was pretty, but that former rebels would sink to such depths… She took a shaky breath as the horrible truth of what had doubtless happened to the peacekeeper's corpse sunk in. But even so, the rules here were so different, maybe cannibalism was somehow excusable. She'd heard grim tales of stranded crews deep at sea.

_His soul will find his way._ Chickaree had known, they all had known. Mags couldn't understand.

She moved away from the rebels, a snarl twisting her lips as hot anger replaced her shock. "What do you want from us!"

Cresyl smiled thinly. His long nose making him look like a bird of prey. "We will lead you outside with supplies, weapons and grenades. Do what feels right."

_What! They were giving them weapons and letting them go, hoping they'd murder the Scavengers and spare them the inconvenience?_

Fife let out an incredulous hiss. "Well played," she granted venomously, stepping as far from the rebels as she could.

_Well played? Hypocritical cowards more like._ If being related to those people mattered to them, why were they doing this?

"Don't worry, Fife, you won't have to do anything, I promise," Constantine said, a terrifying ardor lighting his features.

Mags just stared. She would have killed Capitolites to gain her freedom. Cannibals who stopped fugitives from reaching the Citadel didn't deserve greater respect. Yet it still wasn't right. The Citadel had said people who reached the sewers could join, yet now there seemed to be conditions attached. Disappointment sapped all her desire to argue. Those were the rebels they were to admire? The last to truly oppose the Capitol? She blinked back tears of rage.

True to their word, Cresyl and Chickaree escorted them to the huge sliding concrete door, handed them two maps of the nine levels of the sewers, and took their leave. Chickaree looked torn as she flashed them a last look but she didn't speak up. Mags hadn't bothered to hide how outraged she felt. They were alone again in the humid tunnels, their torchlights providing poor light in the gloom. Mags' mind was still reeling from shock. The boy's slack head flashed before her eyes every time she gazed into the darkness.

"So people are kicked out of the Citadel for some reason, lack of food, you name it, and resort to cannibalism. Cool. Do you think we'll make some sense of this before we die?" Fife wondered, her forced lightness and dubious humor unable to completely cover the brittleness in her voice.

"Shut up," Mags said, desperate for things to slow, for some time to gain control back over events. Fife's rapid speech was just making her head spin faster. In minutes, she had gone from feeling rather safe to being forcibly thrown out of the Citadel in a way more horrible than any she could have imagined. She couldn't bear to look at the grenades Constantine carried.

"She said _Atli's_ Scavengers, do you think there is another group?"

"Fife, I'm serious," Mags ground out.

A hand slapped her cheek, hard. Mags gasped, stumbling.

"If the charts are accurate, we are six miles away from the third level and Atli's headquarters," Constantine said, folding back the map. "Fife, don't hit her again," he added in warning tones.

Before Mags could complain icy water entered her eyes and mouth. She spluttered, "Fife!"

"Get a hold of yourself," Fife ordered.

Mags glared only to see the haggard short-haired girl fidget nervously as she tucked the water bottle away, her dark eyes pleading, as if she was desperate to see Mags tell them what to do.

Fife was not responsible for the mess they were in. Mags wiped her face and forced herself to breathe steadily until her thoughts seemed to clear.

"Let's walk. At least now we can leave for the Capitol if we must," she said.

Fife muttered something unintelligible.

"Unless this was a positive remark, keep it to yourself."

Fife flashed her a weak grin before zipping her lips shut.

"Do you want me to hold your hands until you both feel safer?"

Constantine's mildly delivered offer made Mags' eyebrows shoot to her hairline. Fife promptly handed out her hand. A ghost of a smile graced Mags' lips. She slid her arm under Constantine's, taking comfort in the warm contact. Their steps rang hollowly on the granite floors, the noise barely hidden by the foul trickling water. Mags paused as they were about to climb up to the fourth level. The pungent sent of oily smoke assaulted her senses.

"The Careers were in the sewers, right? They might have found them before us," she said, fear at being trapped under a fire warring with guilty relief. Tempers were too high to head, _with grenades_, to an inhabited zone of the sewers. The smoke wasn't thick, so the fire wasn't right above them. She eyed the ladder warily. The sewers were very humid, she hoped it would be enough to shield them.

"Well that's disappointing," Constantine said, a mutinous expression on his face.

Mags winced. He was much too enthusiastic at the prospect of killing the Scavengers. He had to calm down.

Fife slid her backpack off her shoulders. "What now?"

"We need to be sure," the aristocratic boy said, wrapping his scarf around his mouth. He stepped on the ladder.

Fife yanked him down. "Dying suffocated or burned? Come on! At least wait until the smoke dissipates. And fire spreads downwards, maybe even staying here is suicidal," she added, her voice trembling.

Mags frowned at Constantine. His withdrawn way of expressing stress was dangerous. It made it too easy to forget that the tribute from One was boiling with unhealthy emotions. They couldn't afford to be rash. "Sit down, please. As long as we don't struggle to breathe, we'll stay. We'll rest for half an hour. If someone comes, we'll hear them."

She was always rather astonished to see the other two obey without question.

"How about a captivating story to distract us, Fife?" Mags said, desperate for an escape.

"I can do that," the girl said with a small smile.


	8. Snare

**A switch of perspective this time.  
**

**Constantine's POV**

He was halfway up the ladder before the words 'let's go' had left Mags' lips. Energy burned in his tense muscles as sordid images of cannibals plagued his vision. He had never witnessed worse perversity and would not share a world with such abominations. If destroying them had to be his choice to make, then a murderer he would become. It would be cleansing, a service rendered to society. Letting them live would be a more heinous crime.

Constantine did not hold great faith in the superiority of the Capitol or in the moral righteousness of rebels. Constantine believed in ideals and people. A few had greatness in them and deserved to be followed, others, like Cereus or Sable, were irreplaceable and had to be protected over all else. Some, like his mother, were worthy of respect, for they brought order in the world and helped bring out the strength of otherwise unremarkable beings. Most people were bland and interchangeable. The aristocratic boy had no desire to waste his time interacting with them and failed to see why some insisted there was a value to every life. He was appalled to see so many people content with their miserable existence instead of fighting to become remarkable. True ambition was depressingly scarce.

The stink of smoke still hung strongly in the air but the sewer walls were caked with humid mold. The flames had not caught in these tunnels. Yet smoke rose, or so Constantine had learned. What filth had caused it to sink deeper in the sewers? He glared at the brown watery muck that lazily trickled towards the old filtering station. He would have climbed that ladder, unmindful of the idiocy of his actions, had Fife not restrained him. He loathed to be used, but he should have expected the rebels not to value his and his companions' lives. He had to keep his wits. Who was he in this place but a beggar with a death sentence? He would have no future unless he won the Capitol's Games.

Debris littered their path as they walked closer to the grayed area on Chickaree's plans. Constantine had been awed by the woman's beauty, untainted by her ruthlessness. Beneath her purple scarf, she had possessed a femininity he had not expected to encounter in such a harsh place. It was not surprising in the slightest that she was the rebel's weapon of choice to assess newcomers. No stranger to duty and expectations, the eighteen year old wondered if she was a mere performer or the one truly responsible for the way they had been treated in the Citadel.

His eyes focused on his feet. Never had he seen such clotted sewers. Since they had climbed to the fifth level, rotten ropes threatened to trip them at every step. Had they been purposefully there to hinder his passage, they could not have been better placed.

"Stop," Mags urgently said, her voice echoing on the somber walls.

The ropes moved. Constantine's legs were stolen from beneath him, wet cord slammed into his back. He brought his hands to his sword, but had no room to unsheathe it. The light suddenly dimmed as a torch smashed against the hard ground.

"Maldita!" Mags' pike accidentally slammed his shoulder. Her foot barely avoided his face.

Constantine forced himself upright before anyone could see him in such a pathetic posture and shot Mags an annoyed glance. There was little point in recognizing snares too late. She had claimed to be a specialist. Taut rope chafed his every limb. Trapped in a foul smelling net, he snorted at the irony. He'd hoped for adventure, and now Cereus would tell him this was karma and curse him again for volunteering. He felt a pang of guilt as he thought of his best friend. He had been impetuous and selfish. Yet even now he saw no other alternative to volunteering, madness as it had been.

A scavenger girl bounced out of the darkness, badly concealing a limp. Her stringy body betrayed a young age. She hadn't reached puberty.

Constantine glowered. A child. They had been caught like rabbits by a damned_ child_! Someone was surely laughing at him somewhere.

The scavenger's face bore scars of old burns and was twisted in a toothy grimace, almost hidden behind a curtain of filthy red curls.

Constantine stared as she turned towards him. Her almond blue eyes were among the most striking he had ever seen. It was unexpected.

She walked towards them, a dulled butcher's knife in her left hand.

"She said you're all danger. I should eat you," she said gleefully in a high-pitched voice. Her expression turned wistful. "You're so pretty," she said, her fingers inches from his frozen face, "maybe it'll make me pretty." She turned to Mags, her eyes lingering on the girl's amber locks as she pushed her own unwashed tangles back. "It's no fair donkeys get to be pretty."

"Has obeying her always been rewarding? Eating us won't change your looks, but you know that. You've got very pretty eyes already," Fife gently said.

Constantine minutely shook his head. He doubted the brunette would obtain answers this time. Indeed, the scavenger ignored her. Her breath was foul on his face. It took all of Constantine's self control not to reach through the ropes and push the filthy creature back.

"Do you think I'll ever be pretty?" She scowled. "They never let me catch. Catchers always get the best bites. The fire ate everything," she wailed, "can't even eat fire-makers. Atli says it's a reward, he says 'not until the rest is found and questioned'." A giggle escaped her cracked mouth. "Fire-makers better run fast, fast, fast!"

So some Careers had eluded the Scavengers' grasp. Such a pity Mirabelle hadn't finished those savages off properly. Constantine's district partner had always been flighty in her pitiable bloodlust. He wondered how one could devote their life to such superficial and twisted pursuits, finding excitement in disfiguring weaklings who had never done anything to warrant her vengeance. Constantine nevertheless vowed to preserve her body from further desecration had she fallen to Atli's creatures. Whereas Cereus' accusations that he lacked empathy were doubtless accurate, he did have principles. The dead deserved some respect.

"Think half for three would be pretty fair," the scavenger said with a hopeful expression that was slowly morphing in fierce delight. "You're kinda fire-makers, Atli has to say yes. They'll _never_ think I can't catch anymore! I'll make Chase see, I will!"

A thin smile drew itself on the aristocratic boy's lips. So this was not about protecting the den. It was about recognition, about _power_. It changed everything. This selfish little creature was but a pale simile of his Sable. They wouldn't even have to kill her, not yet.

"They would already know if they knew about the real kills you make, but you're clever and hide them," Constantine said, his voice a seductive purr, "They deserve to be yours."

He could feel Mags' hand tightening on his shirt. Their leader was too attached to truth and compassion. He wasn't here to heal the scavenger's mind, she would be useful to them as she was. Constantine now had the creature's full attention.

"They didn't listen when I was small like you. They soon learned it was wiser to listen and that they'd pay for ignoring me. None would now think to cross me, I can teach you," he said.

No matter what people claimed, appearance and charisma exerted a greater hold on the average mind than solid logic or common sense. None among those fallen rebels living in filth could hope to match his bearing, and confidence was so often mistaken for wisdom and knowledge by the ignorant. Not even a flicker of doubt had entered the child's glowing eyes.

"Then teach," she snarled, her knife suddenly pressed to his throat. He was pulled back violently and landed on his feet.

The deranged creature jumped back at seeing them free. She was scowling fiercely, her weapon brandished before her. But her eyes were too bright, her arm too unsteady and her hold too awkward. Constantine knew she had never watched any of her victims in the eye before striking. She would not strike.

Mags had pushed the last of the ropes off her legs and grasped her pike. Fife remained entangled in a second net but wasn't struggling to reach her knives. She seemed awaiting her rescue, a frown marring her brow.

Constantine found her implicit trust in him quite flattering. He put on his most solemn expression, more amused than threatened. "Tell us about them. We will tell you their weaknesses and they'll never steal your kills again."

Fierce fury and betrayal washed all trace of civility from the creature's face. Constantine briefly feared he'd overstepped himself. "You think me stupid enough to tell secrets?_ You think me stupid_? You'd get me killed by Chase? He'd snap you like brittle bones!»

_Chase? It was the second time she'd mentioned the name. Was he Atli's executioner?_

"Not the secrets, the obvious things," Fife intervened, looking at the creature before her as if she was a queen deserving the utmost respect. "The things everyone here knows but only the clever people notice. We are no friends of Chase's but we won't threaten your home."

Fife had no shame but she was a masterful puppeteer, too polished for a self taught orphan. The Scavenger seemed drunk from the attention as a string of disjointed facts and phrases rushed out of her cracked gray mouth. Fife never made a move to escape. She was alternatively awed and aghast, her patience seemingly endless despite the frustrating uselessness of most of what was said. Constantine tightened his grip on his sword, itching to chase the creature away. Her mere presence was polluting his air, an insult to any respectable being.

"… and Chase send birdies to sniff out moving steel. He makes the jets sing and the snoops go still. It must tickle. Night skin said you're danger, that snoops are following all the pretty people. Night skin was bad, ran away. Chase says to stay where the jets can sing…."

There. _Night skin_. Trust District Eleven to thoughtlessly encourage those man-eaters to sacrifice their last shreds of honor by killing stranded travelers. Constantine had heard enough. They were not here to chat.

"You should kill Chase. He's a coward. He doesn't want you to go where he cannot protect you because he would lose his power over you. He wants the best pieces to himself. As he should, they're so much better than what's left to the others," the aristocratic boy said in knowing tones.

Pure anger twisted the child's features. It was so easy to sway her in the right direction. She hesitated, her eyes darting between him and Mags, stopping on their weapons. "Straight until the purple crawlies than right, left, right. You tell Chase. This will be fun, Donkeys."

Constantine clenched his fists in ire. Scavenger jabber was grating but he especially _loathed_ that appellation.

She scurried away, muttering to herself.

"What are you playing at, Constantine? This isn't like you." Mags said, tension creasing lines in her tanned face.

Constantine arched an eyebrow. Why would she think that? Politics was all about charming worthless people.

"He got into her head, it saved our lives," Fife said as the others freed her. Mags was truly gifted with knots. "Thank you. I've never seen anything like her."

Constantine smiled, proud to have impressed the two girls. Fife's last comment struck him as odd. "Why not? Are the derailed too unpredictable for you to satisfyingly play?"

"In Nine, the overtly bloodthirsty and the unstable are outcasts." Fife's voice lowered into a steely whisper. "I do not take a sick pleasure from depriving the most vulnerable of the little they may have left. I do not act on selfish whims. I do not destroy lives."

Constantine had expected another deflection, not a passionate answer. This was the young woman who had swiftly ended the peacekeeper's misery. This was the one who slipped through every trap and saw through every person. Constantine bowed. "You are more interesting when you stop hiding."

Fife blinked, sudden vulnerability taking years off her face. A confident smile graced her lips so swiftly that Constantine wondered if his mind wasn't playing him tricks. "Why, thank you, Constantine."

A voice seemed conspicuously absent. Their lovely leader seemed enthralled by their interaction. She cleared her throat when Constantine turned to her.

"How did you know? You do not associate with such people. They are beneath you and your family. And even though, why would you want to associate with them? I wonder if she has ever known any other life, if she knows why she lives like this," Mags said. Her eyes were full of pity as she shot a look to where the Scavenger had run off to.

She really cared too much.

Constantine then smirked. How quick were they all to judge him, it amused him to no end. He had been born with power, power that was his by right, and he would never consent to bow to the petty people who presumed to decree what was _acceptable_ behavior for one of his status. They were inferior of status and wealth, power-hungry vultures who sought to cage those above them with false notions of _propriety _and _respectability_. Only he would decide who was worthy of his attention. "Such a creature certainly is, but her aspirations are not alien to me," he said, his face softening.

"What's he or she like?" Fife curiously asked.

Constantine shot her a condescending glance. Sable wasn't a mere mix of character traits. People who could be defined in a handful of words were beneath his notice.

_Blood. Constantine hated that smell. It had permeated the streets during the Dark Days. He had spent them locked in the house, with only Coraline and the other servants to keep him company. The woman would prattle on endlessly unless she painted, so the child had solemnly asked her to teach him. He was proud to discover himself gifted and found his affection for the simple-minded woman grow as his talent gave him an escape from the barbarism of the world. His father kept no children books, Constantine's canvases were the only thing that truly matched his personality. He glowed at the pride in his parents' eyes and hoped it would ensure they would come back every night, especially his mother. Almost half of One's peacekeeper's were under her command, it made Constantine feel important, but it also terrified him, because of the danger and the death reports. Not that he'd ever shame his family by admitting it, or insult his mother by implying that she could not take care of herself. _

_Blood. The ten year old who had carelessly sat next to him stank of it. Her plain dress was a mess. A burly teacher was at their side before Constantine could politely demand she leave._

"_What happened to you?"_

_Fat tears began to overflow from the child's eyes. "Crystal said I'd pay. He hates freaks like me. He said Altai would be next, 'cause he's a prissy crybaby."_

_A dark shadow flew over the man's face. "Be a gentleman and take her home, young man."_

_Twelve year old Constantine had been raised too well to refuse. He offered the sniveling girl an arm._

_She giggled, latching on. A fearsome grin painted her face. "Altai is his precious little boy. Crystal shouldn't have called him a crybaby. No, no. The blood's from Crystal's stupid dog. Crystal called me a bitch. I'd rather be a spider, they eat the males that get too close." _

_Her voice was like a song, as if she was soothing a baby with silly rhymes. Constantine finally focused on her. She wasn't pretty, with lackluster curls and too-wide pale eyes, and something was alarmingly off. It took all his willpower not to remove his arm from her grasp. She giggled again before he could form a suitable response._

"_You can't take me home. Dad thinks I want boyfriends. My sister ran away with a belly so big she almost rolled down the street. She wasn't even fifteen. He likes reminding people he shot loads of people during the Dark Days."_

_That was a lie even if Constantine had believed her then, the first of many. Constantine was aware he still lacked some facts. He also knew that the line between reality and imagination was a tenuous one in Sable's world._

_She had been somehow damaged and fixed herself by making the new rules. She lacked the taboos society imprinted on individuals. She didn't seek to mingle but people who tried to bully her tended to vanish, erased like a mistake on a child's attempt at a perfect drawing. Sable never ceased to play, her pranks often childish, sometimes somber enough to make Constantine glimpse a darkness he found both disturbing and enthralling. Her passion never dimmed and she was unnervingly happy. Constantine had feared his conception of reality would shatter when he discovered her joy of living was unfeigned. He refused to try and change her and just drew the line at her killing the people who misguidedly did. She defied the rules. She was extraordinary. She was all that Cereus wasn't but just as magnificent in her way. They were the people who rekindled his faith in humanity. After all, why bother with life if the characters of tales surpassed real people in morals, ambition and deeds? It was a lie to say life presented one with less opportunity. His parents had never understood his fascination for books. Constantine had never dared to tell them to simply look at the window and contemplate the lack of meaning in the world. He had taken great pains to keep Sable and Cereus separate. Like matter and antimatter, they could only destroy themselves, and that was unconscionable. _

_For reasons he didn't seek to fathom, Sable liked him. She sometimes called him brother. His parents would be appalled to see their heir return the derailed quarry girl's hugs. She surprised him, something to which few people could claim.  
_

"Sable is worth my time. She gives another dimension to this world, although one many people would do without."

"I don't want to know," Mags said. "I'd rather hear more about Cereus if we must chat."

"I _really_ want to know," Fife said, fluttering her eyelashes.

Constantine basked in the attention, but there was nothing to say. He had no wish to argue why he didn't stop Sable from harming _innocent people_. While Fife and Mags were rare women he had come to value, people like Cereus and Sable were worth a thousand mundane citizen. They were extraordinary. Life had no intrinsic value, some individuals deserved to be exalted over the masses. He glared at Fife when she insisted. He could see it in the tremble to her step, the hesitation and fear, the wish to delay and to occupy her thoughts with things unrelated to their predicament. He understood why the girl was reluctant to enter Atli's den, but turning away would amount to enabling the scavengers' horrid actions.

They had to hurry, before the filthy child returned to check that they'd truly challenged Chase. He wondered what kind of monster would seek to lead these creatures. Who would hold power so dear to consent to live as king in such a place rather than as a common worker in a sunlit district?

Constantine shut his eyes as a stench of unmatched vileness assaulted his senses. He brought his hands to his nose and mouth as a pained expression twisted his features. It took all his discipline not to be violently ill.

The mold on the wall was of a different color. Purple.

* * *

**AN: thanks to my reviewers as always. It's great to have such diverse feedback. I even got my very first 'flame', this story must be getting popular xD  
**

**About that. Every character in this fic (yes, even Mags) has a flawed view of the world. I am not advocating Constantine's view of life. Just like I do not advocate rebels giving teenagers weapons or showing them severed heads. I realized after reading a rather vehement guest review that this might not have been clear. Oh and just because the rebels are against the Capitol, it doesn't mean they are saints. It'd be wonderful if everyone who thought Hitler was evil was a great person. I expect my readers not to take what my characters say as gospel. It would be dreadfully boring if they all had politely correct mainstream beliefs.  
**


	9. Scavengers

**Mags' POV**

Mags frowned. In the right light the thick mold covering the walls was indeed of a dark purple and its odd patterns did give the illusion of movement.

_Purple crawlies._

She was astonished the Scavenger girl had been so quick to believe that they shared her wish to convince Chase, whoever he was, to be more lenient. Yet being self-centered was the most normal of her flaws. She'd been so young and could Mags even blame her? Growing up here? Was the girl even mentally healthy, with the polluted air she breathed every day?

Mags thought of Chase, the man who decreed how _spoils_ were divided. She kept her livid face hidden from Constantine. How could the scavenger have reminded him of a friend? _Such a creature, _he had said. No. Scavengers were _human_. Calling them creatures would strip them of any responsibility but, boy, were they responsible of their acts! A rabid _dog_ was no criminal. These _people_ were ill from the fumes and desperate, stuck between rebels who didn't want them and peacekeepers who would kill them on sight, but ill fortune wasn't an excuse for every crime. But if they were too ill be held accountable... Mags had to see first.

The grenades were heavy in her bag; the leather straps dug into her shoulders. Maybe they'd try to stick her in a cage, but she couldn't just bomb a settlement. She didn't want to kill, but letting the Scavengers be would be the coward's way out. How many desperate people seeking a haven had had their dreams destroyed by those voracious scroungers? Mags forced her boiling blood to cool and her mind on the present. Emotions were best stored away when reality merged with nightmares. It was too late to turn back. She focused on facts, cursing the nascent headache clawing at her eyes.

Scavenger security wasn't foolproof or the girl from Eleven would not have escaped. Constantine would blow the Scavengers up if they so much as touched any of them, and that made Mags feel hypocritical. She vowed to stop him if he tried.

She rubbed her temples and focused on her surroundings. She would not be taken by surprise by another set of snares.

Constantine had stopped. High-pitched laughter reached her ears. Mags swallowed.

They had found them.

"One on one, even two to one, we remain at an advantage. We have no reason to hide. If they were organized warriors, they would be with Chickaree's people. At worse we run," Constantine whispered, looking fed up with the whole situation.

Mags shared the sentiment. The faster this was over the better, but acting too fast would make them the monsters. She was leaping in the unknown, about to commit actions that could change her forever, with no guarantee that her own mother would recognize, or even approve, of the Mags that would emerge. She could refuse and leave the sewers, hoping life would hand her a better outcome, but she'd learned as a child that one had to fight for good things. Staying idle, paralyzed with fear of what may be, was the reason people let the Capitol rule Panem. She turned to Fife who grudgingly nodded. The brunette looked far from happy. They had not given her a say in the matter but Mags didn't see any acceptable alternatives.

Two scantily clad skinny boys, maybe eight, were mock-attacking a blonde man armed with a metal bar, who patiently weathered their assault. Mags heart clenched at the sight of small children.

The man's jaw dropped as he registered their presence. He gaped, as if not believing his eyes.

"We'd like to be lead to Atli," Constantine said, with a self-assurance that made the smaller man wilt.

"Who's that, Pap'?"

"A weasel? But weasels got uniforms."

"Are they from _below_?" The first boy said, his eyes wide in awe.

The man fingered his thick matted beard, his gaze falling on Constantine's sword. He finally squared his shoulders and shrugged.

" 'kay. Falcon, go tell we got visitors."

The two boys sped off.

Mags tried to smoothen her features. Constantine's expression was hostile enough for ten people. She absently rubbed her aching upper arm, wondering when she'd gotten a bruise. Whole families were living here, struggling to keep their loved ones alive, like so many others in the districts. Mags admired the broken families who selflessly worked themselves raw to offer their children dreams despite bad fortune, but here a line had been crossed. She would rather die than live like this. Her skin crawled as they walked deeper in the Scavengers' base.

"Will both of you stop looking like you've come to commit a genocide," Fife muttered, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else.

Mags feared she couldn't do better. Images of those kids' crooked teeth sinking in the dead tribute's flesh would not leave her mind. How could one bring children in the world when_ this_ was all they could offer? The worst was that those boys could very well be happy, with this the only life they knew. Mags' eyes stung at the thought.

Tents soon appeared, reminding Mags of the post-rebellion slums which every mayor in Four still worked hard at eradicating. The stench of crowded humans was thicker with every step. People dressed in rags turned suspicious eyes towards them, their hands on crude weapons, but they made no move to attack. There were maybe a score, barefoot on the rugs which now covered the sewer floor. They were drawn and angular, their skins of a pasty yellow, but the sorry sight only fueled Mags' fury. They were much too numerous to survive on the flesh of wanderers. They had other food, they had no excuse!

Mags tensed. A huge hairy man with a gun was blocking one of the tunnels. He would have looked robust in any setting but next to the scavengers, who were all bordering on undernourished, he was a beast. He crossed his thick arms and stared down at them, standing nearly half a head over Constantine. "I'm Chase," he said with narrowed eyes. "You're from the same bunch that fried the top hollow."

So this was Chase. And the Careers had apparently been no less zealous in their destruction of cannibals than they had been in the cold murder of the two poor tributes from District Six. Mags took a deep breath, afraid to drown in righteous hate. Such a powerful, glorious feeling, hate, a shield from guilt and hesitation, a weapon of superior strength. _A trap._ She would not lose control. Those were people, people who had just lost loved ones to tributes that should never had been near the sewers. She would not forget it.

"I'm Fife. They're Capitol supporters. It'd be like saying you're like the ones who live below," Fife said with a defiant glare.

Mags tightened her grasp on her pike. Intimidating was one of the few angles Fife could not pull off. Not when faced with a seven foot monster. And how could she compare supporting the Capitol and supporting the Citadel? The Citadel genuinely tried to make the best of the little they had and had noble ideals. Of course they weren't perfect, but no one was.

Hostile mutters rippled behind them. Chase cracked his knuckles. "You met them?"

Fife huffed. "Full of themselves, aren't they?" She said with a tight smile.

A booming laugh resonated behind the bulky scavenger. Chase slowly moved aside to reveal a fatherly bald bearded man draped in long shifts. He was accompanied by a skinny hawk-eyed woman.

"Quite the understatement. You wanted to meet me?"

So this was the infamous Atli. He looked… normal, a ragged and unhealthy normal, but not like a savage. How arrogant of him, to believe they would not throw a knife straight at his throat. Mags hoped she would not have to talk, for she knew only accusing words would leave her mouth.

"You've been keeping scores of people alive in this wretched place and no one in the Districts has ever heard of you," Fife said, awe coloring her voice. "It seemed impossible, we had to come and see."

"Your _friends_ came and burned. We lost many good people."

_Good people._ Perspective was everything. Did the Scavengers kill all the wanderers from the Districts as a rule? Mags nevertheless acknowledged that Atli's sorrow might be real.

"They're _not_ my friends," Fife said, her eyes flashing, "they're strangers from other districts. They're judgmental fools born in false comfort. What you have here is incredible."

Mags' face was hard as she turned her attention on her more mysterious companion. Could masks completely cover a decent soul? Was Fife's disgust so well hidden that even she did not catch a glimpse of it? Her words were objectively true if one extended the meaning of incredible to its darkest sense. Mags watched revulsion and amazement flicker in Constantine's narrowed eyes. Fife looked sinfully genuine as she flattered the middle-aged man and Mags finally saw why lies could be considered weapons as much as any sword. Fife's whole being, attitude and words alike, were crafted to suit her purpose, no flaw in her disguise. For the first time since she had grasped the boyish tribute's hand, Mags was afraid of her.

Atli opened his arms in a welcoming gesture. "I like you, Fife." His grin faded, he pointed a stubby accusing finger towards Constantine. "Your friends look tense."

Fife shuffled her feet in embarrassment. "It's the smell, no offense."

Mags almost snorted. _But of course._

Atli's booming laugh resonated again in the stale air. "Follow me," he said.

"Impressive," Constantine granted as Chase let them pass. Mags' fear vanished as the girl flashed them an apologetic smile. It had to be genuine. Fife would not risk being called out on her act by the Scavengers unless she truly cared about her companions not thinking her a monster. She couldn't be that devilish.

"Let's hope it was worth it," Mags said, wondering what they were even doing anymore. Infiltration and mass murder didn't sound appealing, no matter how she tried to justify it in her mind. Ever since the crash, she felt she hadn't taken the time to just stop and think.

They were led to a large tent, which was a patchwork of rags on uneven poles. Mags estimated the number of Scavengers at well over fifty and figured they had to have access to the same supplies as the Citadel. _Kinship_. She didn't doubt Chickaree had not given her the true reasons, but such misguided loyalty was appalling . Without food, the Scavengers would have had to go to Three. It would have been better than this.

"Everyone else out," Chase grunted, glaring at the dozen onlookers.

"I have nothing to hide from my children," Atli said, his voice pleasant and kind.

Mags winced, feeling a crawl run up her arms. He spoke of the others as _his children_? Kinship was doubtless the only thing these people had and maybe that made Atli a good leader, since he gave them the happiness he could, but no rationalization could ease her discomfort.

"They can be told later. I won't have blasphemous words poisoning our brothers and sisters' ears, Atli."

Atli shrugged as if there was little he could do against the larger man. They were soon alone.

A sense of dread permeated Mags' bones. _Blasphemous words?_ Atli's attitude echoed that of one her father's old commanders. There was no doubt in the girl's mind that Chase acted on orders, but Chase shielded Atli from any hard feelings since it was the large man who voiced all the unpleasant orders. Chase was doubtless hated and it served Atli well, for Atli retained his image as benevolent leader. Or _father_. Mags crossed her arms to stop a shiver from betraying her unease. Words had meaning, and the fanatical connotations of Atli's made her rethink her options.

"Welcome to my humble abode. What do you really want?"

"The truth. We're tired of everyone's lies," Fife said, a picture of earnestness.

Mags nodded vehemently, her mind searching for a way to disarm Chase if he threatened them. No one else seemed to own anything more sophisticated than knives and crowbars.

"We met one of your people before, a boy our age. He tried to kill us before we chased him away," Constantine said, a defiant cast to his handsome features.

Atli sighed. "My children are far from perfect and we have so little to offer our young." Anger twisted his compassionate expression into a hateful scowl, "They tolerate no flaws in the Citadel. Only when they will have an army of perfect warriors will they march. So never! They kicked us out like mongrels, leaving us to die, calling us leeches that helped the Capitol with our weakness. I found them, all the _leeches_. My children." Atli brought his fist down on the low table. "They value only the life of those they can use, people are tools to them. Just like the Capitol. They left half their kin to die in filth and dare feel better than us!"

Mags felt she was swimming deep in passionate propaganda. She wasn't impressed. _People were very mean to us, so of course we're a bit creepy, you must understand. _Right. If Atli cared more about his people than his power, why were they all still here? Even they could not find these acceptable living conditions.

She struggled to keep her voice lower than a shout and her arms docilely by her sides. "You do eat people even if you have food."

Atli didn't seemed very fazed by the accusation. She had the urge to throttle the man and shake some sense into him.

His wife snorted. "We eat those who die in the sewers. We can't bury and can't burn, and rot brings even more death. Only the maddest of us try to murder travelers. We do try to raise them proper. The Citadel would have them dead, but they are our children. They deserve a chance."

Liars. The tributes who had stayed near the train wreck had had days of supplies left. The two youths they had met could barely string coherent sentences, yet this couple seemed reasonably educated. They had choices, no matter how unpleasant, and they had chosen _this_. "Then why not flee to Three, in small groups? What future do you have here?"

A feverish exclamation greeted her question. Atli had turned an unwholesome shade of purple. "I will protect my children to my dying day! No-one will even _think_ to harm them!" He was shaking in fervent anger, his arms waving in grand expansive gestures. "Better die free here than become disgusting donkeys! Better suffer and starve than touch Capitol cloth and food."

"It's district food, grown and gathered by district people, distributed by district people," Mags painstakingly ground out, her whole body shaking with anger.

"Under the Capitol's orders!" Atli spat. "We are not so weak as to fall into temptation!"

"Don't you dare try and pervert our youth to your cowardly, comfort seeking, depraved ways with your honeyed words," the woman said in trembling tones.

Mags didn't reply, Fife's grip on her arm had grown bruising. Chase was glaring daggers at Mags, his blue eyes much colder and more focused than the couple's feverish and exalted gestures. They had walked into a madhouse. Mags cynically wondered why she had even tried to make them see reason, who else would live in sewers for nine years? Of course they would have demonized the outside world beyond reason.

"Please don't get angry. We're not perfect either, we're trying to learn," Fife said in a meek voice.

Atli was instantly back to his paternal self and patted the girl's shoulder. "I know, child. It's just agonizing to witness the Capitol's dark words twist bright young minds."

Mags clenched her jaw. She wondered if finding the man's litany of excuses for keeping scores of people under his control utterly sickening made her as bad as Chickaree. Suddenly, she found being compared to Chickaree did not sound as bad as it had an hour ago. Would Mags have given grenades to lost teenagers and sent them out to murder inconvenient people? No. But Chickaree had seemed guilty and the three of them were already condemned.

"Do you think you'll ever attack the Capitol?" She said, hoping her voice didn't betray her sarcasm. Or her fear. Either Atli had multiple personalities, or he was toying with them, waiting to kill them. He probably believed each of them had been tainted by the Capitol.

"We would, if The Five just let us have the weapons they keep in the Citadel! They have supplies for a nation but hoard them for themselves. They leave us with no choice but to endure." Atli's voice had risen to a shout. "We won't give them the satisfaction of begging at their door, _never_!"

They couldn't have nothing or they would have starved to death a long time ago. They were dirty, thin and pale, but not starving either. Their teeth were healthy and their hair dirty but long and solid, so the food was reasonably healthy. Did Atli really expect them to do more than pity him? Justified bitterness didn't excuse such warped reasoning. He was supposed to be responsible for his people, not make them live miserable lives out of pride!

Fife's self-serving question distracted her from her outraged musings. "Shouldn't you be wearing masks?"

Atli smiled kindly again. Mags' fear grew. She knew in her bones that the man didn't mean well. Fife wasn't the only good liar in the room.

"The purple molds filter the air," Atli said.

_That odd thing thick with the stink of unwashed flesh? _Even so, how could you filter efficiently tunnels with no doors? She could still smell smoke. Had Atli convinced the others they were safe from the fumes? Could it be true? The Scavengers had endured for years after all_._

Constantine nodded appraisingly. "Crafty of you to turn the Capitol's organic weapons against them."

_Hypocrites_, Mags read in his dark eyes. Atli only heard the compliment.

"All their wealth cannot disguise their vileness. Only we know the way and we will bring them down."

Mags couldn't bear to listen further. This was the worst perversion of rebel ideals she had ever seen. They had not fought to sacrifice their children to insanity and lingering death in the name of freedom. They had not died to have people convinced ideals with no action made people superior and guaranteed them victory. They had not bled to have deluded despots lord over desperate people in the name of the rebellion. She abruptly stood up.

"Do you want us to spread the word of this place?" She asked curtly. She was seconds away from snapping. They had talked enough. She couldn't kill them. She wished there were peacekeepers she could trust to exert true justice. Determination burned in her veins. She would find a way to salvage those who had not succumbed to fanaticism, but the others would answer for their crimes. The more rational part of her knew that would not happen until Panem was free of the Capitol's clutches, but she had to try.

"Oh but you are not leaving, children. Surely you want to stay free." Atli's smile hadn't reached his eyes.

_Just brilliant._

"We'd come back with people, and permanent ways of having better food," Fife said, "we think you deserve a bigger family, Atli."

The man seemed reluctantly charmed by the idea. He cocked his thin eyebrows, unable to hide his suspicion.

"We cannot put our brothers and sisters at risk," Chase interrupted, a deep frown creasing his face.

It wasn't reason but pain that stayed Mags' arm. Her headache was worsening by the minute. She couldn't think properly. Her survival instinct was screaming at her. They had to get out.

Atli nodded gravely. "My duty is foremost to my family."

The silence stretched into a hostile pause. Mags' fingers clenched over her pike. The gun, they couldn't avoid gun shots.

"Can we properly meet them then?" Fife said brightly. "I'd love to finally see people not tainted by the Capitol."

Atli's wife clapped her hands together. "Of course, darling, come."

_Oh please, no._

"In twenty minutes, I'm using those grenades," Constantine mouthed as Chase pushed them towards the exit.

"No you're not," Mags hissed, "we need to leave." This was wrong on so many levels.

Fife huffed, her low voice trembling with fear. "This is a bloody sect."

An invisible cloth erased all feeling from her face. She turned and smiled at Atli as the man gently grasped her hand.

Mags closed her eyes briefly. If Fife could do this, so could she.


	10. Escape

**Thank you all for your invaluable reviews.  
**

* * *

Mags swallowed her bile and pretended to be interested as Atli walked with them among _his children_, speaking names and blessings and introducing them as lost souls who had heard the call of the righteous. Constantine had wrapped a tense arm around her shoulder. Just like her right arm resting around his waist, it was not to advertise any romantic entanglement, but to occupy limbs aching to wield weapons, but Mags did not miss the jealous glares both male and female scavengers shot their way. She shook her left arm slightly, annoyed by the dull pain pulsing up her shoulder. Of all places for her body to start complaining!

"They're so pretty," a little girl whispered.

"Capitol filth keeps donkeys tame by giving them clean air. Buys them with beauty and lies," a one-legged blonde spat, not even bothering to lower her voice.

Constantine offered the crippled woman a dazzling smile, causing pure envy to darken her face. Mags refused to sink to such pettiness, but she could hear her instincts screaming for the grenades. With every step her whole being challenged her staunch loathing of murder, demanding better reasons to let the Scavengers live. Leaving would solve nothing but wiping them out shouldn't be the answer. Could these people be healed?

"What are you waiting for?" Mags said as Atli led them towards an umpteenth shabby shack. She doubted Constantine hadn't attacked just because she had asked not to.

"Explosives are the basest form of combat," the aristocratic boy replied, looking torn.

_Ah… _He would have killed them with other weapons? Mags sighed at his misplaced sense of honor. She stumbled, barely catching herself. Her headache was growing intolerable. They could not delay further.

A hair-rising shriek cut the air before she could reply to Constantine. He jerked her behind him, shielding her with his body. Fife dashed to her side.

They froze as they recognized the voice. "Caught a fire maker and two raccoons! Caught…"

The black-haired youth's jubilant cries died when he saw them. "Them! I saw them before! They went _below _with_ them_! Filthy weasels," he snarled.

Shouts erupted all around them.

"I knew it! Just look at them…."

"Filthy weasels!"

"What's the truth, Father?"

"Kill 'em! Eat 'em!"

Despite their agitation, Mags could see none would attack unless the suspiciously silent Atli gave word. Those people were not fighters. Her eyes moved to the three tied up prisoners. Two, a couple, wore black masks over their heads, their angry eyes quite visible behind transparent screens, the other she instantly recognized, District Seven. The stocky tanned boy had a dead look in his eyes. He was shivering, as if prone to waking nightmares. Mags ground her teeth at the sorry sight. What had happened to him?

"Unmask them," Atli's wife said in her whiplash croaking voice, "and bring me the criminal."

"We run now or never," Fife whispered, distracting Mags from the scene.

"We can't leave them here and Chase has a gun," Mags replied, struggling not to grit her teeth.

"His life was forfeit the moment he was reaped. You will hate this anyway, Mags. Let's just get out of here alive."

The tribute was not the only thing holding Mags back. "Chase has a gun and he's watching us as much as them," she repeated tensely.

And they still didn't know if some of Delphin's group were kept prisoner. They couldn't walk out on them. They couldn't leave them to die like that.

"Edge closer to Atli, stay with me," Constantine ordered. He had the dangerous confidence of those with an insane plan. Unfortunately Mags had nothing better to offer. She still made sure he wasn't reaching for the grenades.

A shout of pain made her eyes snap back to the prisoners. The man's mask had been sliced open with no care for the skin underneath.

Mags' eyes widened when she saw the man's bonds come undone and his arms shoot forward.

His teeth set in a grim snarl, he twisted the scavenger's arm with incredible speed. In two swift movements, he disarmed the youth and plunged the knife in his throat before knocking the other nearby scavenger down with a well-placed kick. The woman by his side, now also free from the snare pushed her partner down to avoid a thrown brick, cursing as they both fell to their knees. A half-dozen screaming scavengers with crowbars rushed towards the two.

Seven just sat there, as if awaiting death, horror etched on his face. A blow to the head knocked him out.

Mags ground her teeth in fury, her eyes desperately darting to Chase. She couldn't just watch! The huge man had removed his gun from the holder but held it loosely by his side. He hadn't shot the rebels yet. Did he even have ammo? She couldn't risk it. She had to distract him, somehow.

The two rebels had risen again, adopted a back to back fighting stance. A scavenger was screaming on the floor, cradling his wrist. The woman had managed to get a knife and the two had evidently every intention to fight their way out.

Mags had every intention to help them. _Were these Chickaree's scouts?_

The Scavengers danced just out of slashing distance, throwing projectiles at the two rebels who struggled to protect their bodies as they edged towards the exit.

The ring of steel cut through the chaos.

"Move back, drop your weapons or your beloved leader will bleed on the ground like gutted swine," Constantine shouted, his sword pressed against Atli's throat. Mags could have smiled if the knife-like pain in her head had been less intense. How stupid of Atli to come so close.

His voice dropped to a lethal whisper as he addressed the trembling scavenger leader. "Tell them to let us leave, the six of us, or not even the maddest of them will fail to see how pathetic you can be. I will make you weep, you wretched creature."

He dug his blade deeply enough to draw blood as Atli failed to answer. All color fled the man's face.

"Do as he says," Atli said in a vibrant voice which almost concealed his tremors. "They will come back to us when they will see the truth. We must forgive them for their weakness."

Except for the livid Chase, the Scavengers all backed away. Chase had pushed Atli's wife to safety and was slowly raising his gun. Mags knew that she couldn't count on him not shooting. She squared her shoulders and stepped in front of her exposed friend, shielding him from the gun.

"You shoot, Chase, and Atli will die with a sword through his heart before I hit the ground," she said, her eyes burning with loathing. She valued her life greatly, but better risk death for a noble cause and leave a proud legacy than preserve her existence at all costs. She hoped that she had not underestimated the man's reasoning ability. If he was mad, they were all dead.

A grunt caught her attention. The masked woman had lifted her limp companion in her arms, and no one seemed to dare get close to her anymore. Rivulets of blood ran down his slashed face. Mags' lips twitched in sheer relief when she saw his chest rise.

"Idiot was feeble-minded when we found him," the woman hissed, jerking her head towards Seven, naked anguish plain in her blue eyes. "Got us caught. Leave him, he's too heavy to carry."

Mags' eyes fell on Seven's muscled form. Broader and heavier than Constantine, he was out cold next to two Scavenger corpses. Fife had been right. Mags _hated _this. Why did the choice have to be hers?

It didn't matter.

"Run," she decided.

Constantine forcefully pushed Atli in Chase's arms, forcing the man to lower the gun to catch his leader.

Fife grabbed Mags' hand as they broke into a sprint.

"I will carry your friend," Constantine urgently said, taking the short wounded man into his arms.

"Husband," the woman corrected, her distress obvious despite the mask, "this way, hurry! You should have slit his throat."

A gunshot ripped the air as they turned into a wider corridor, tearing chips off the moldy wall.

"Catch them," Chase bellowed.

The woman's voice was thick with hate and pity as they hurried deeper into the sewers. "They can't run to save their lives. Atli doesn't feed them as much as he could. Keeps them angry and tame."

"What happened to him?" Mags asked, gesturing at the man Constantine was carrying.

"A brick fell and broke on the back of his head and he took a rock to the temple," his wife said through clenched teeth. "He fainted. We have some good medicine, we have to take him down to the bunker."

Soon, they could hear the angry voices fade in the distance. They slowed their pace, but only fractionately.

"You're of the Citadel?" Mags asked, forcing herself not to slow down further despite the darkness. She felt as if needles were pushed into her eyes with every step. She desperately hoped they had medicine against migraines.

A harsh laugh escaped the woman's lips. "No. We're the ones who wanted the whole of Three to come to the Citadel. The Citadel... We were almost all civilians once, and many don't have it in them to fight after ten years. They're tired and bitter. We're the only ones who still fight. The Capitol must know something is afoot. You here, just days before we finally launch the attack… It stinks."

_A major attack? After nine years? And the Capitol knew?_ Mags' frantic heartbeat drummed against her ears. _Were they truly here by coincidence?_

"He stopped breathing," Constantine suddenly said, lowering the man to the floor.

The rebel ripped her mask off, revealing short strawberry-blond curls and an open doll-like face. "No! No, don't you dare die on me, Nexus! Don't you dare," she hissed, crouching over the unconscious man. She couldn't have much older than twenty-five.

It was soon apparent there was nothing they could do.

Mags strained her ears in case Scavengers were still on their tracks. She kept her eyes on the dim tunnel, struggling to grant the sobbing woman at least an illusion of privacy. She could feel tears mounting in her own eyes. Mags had steeled herself to kill and instead mourned a man she had never met. She struggled to find meaning to it. At least the atrocities of the Rebellion had been rendered bearable by their fierce belief in victory. What were they accomplishing _here_? She wholeheartedly hoped Seven was dead, and was horrified by it. How many more would there be?

Finally, the blonde spoke up in a brittle voice. "I must go outside, to bury him."

_Bury?_ Mags turned shimmering eyes to her, unable to conceal her frown. Had even that been a lie?

Constantine crouched next to the woman. "Do you need some help, or an escort?"

She violently shook her head, her fingers brushing her husband's hair out of his face.

"I hate to be so insensitive, but we need to know what happened to the other tribute," Fife said.

Now that there was no more Atli to charm, the brunette hid neither her tremors nor her horror.

"It can wait," Constantine shot back, a fierce cast to his face.

Fife dropped her gaze, a tear escaping her black eyes. "Not necessarily…."

Mags yearned to disappear. Using the woman for information in such a moment made her feel dirty, and dirtier with each second she kept silent. When did the goal stop justifying the means? How low could she accept to sink?

The rebel cradled her face with her shaking hands. "We found him a few hours ago. He wasn't very coherent. We understood that they were six when they got lost in the sewers. They found a 'token' in the corridors and found the Scavengers. They saw they'd eaten someone they knew and lost their tempers. They doubled back to get chemicals and burn whatever they found." She stood up, murder written on her anguished features. "Something we should have done long ago! Then some of the tributes started butchering every Scavenger they could find, including the children. But Will, the boy, he was horrified by it, so they fought and turned on each other. Will killed a girl who tried to kill someone called Styx. He lost it and ran away from the group of survivors. He kept wailing, saying he was sorry. The din attracted Scavengers." A broken laugh escaped her lips. "Bold ones for a change. I should give you directions…"

"We have a map," Mags said, wishing her voice could convey an apology she didn't know how to formulate.

The woman's lips twitched weakly. "Auntie gets around... Chickaree's the reason the Citadel didn't break into a civil war after the proclamation of the first Games. We separated with almost no bloodshed," she said in choked bitter tones. "She should've come with us, but she's been hopelessly in love with that asshole Hunter for years. He keeps her loyal. I suppose he's still stringing her along?"

"We didn't stay long enough to see... Is there a fourth faction?" Mags said as the woman scribbled on their map.

Constantine sent her a withering glance. Mags swallowed painfully. He was right, they shouldn't be pestering the poor woman, not now, but Mags knew she didn't have the strength to head back blindly through the sewers again. Faint relief loosened her painful limbs as the blonde shook her head. They had seen the worst of this underground hell.

"Say Teal sent you," the woman added. Fury and guilt flashed on her face as she lifted the man's body. "If you find them before they find you, insult them."

Teal broke into a lumbering run, one of her hands tightly linked with her husband's. Mags brought her fist to her mouth, swallowing back tears. Teal's gaunt expression awakened her deepest fears. Nexus' hair had been as dark as Esperanza's. Mags averted her eyes before Teal had turned the corner. She just couldn't look. Mags admired the woman for her strength, a strength that reminded her of another time when death was common place and had to be accepted.

She found herself missing her dad more than she had in years.

Fife spoke up when Teal's steps had vanished. The petite girl was hugging herself on the floor, looking much younger than her years. "Do we really want to go there? They're probably decent but…."

"Yes!"

Fife turned to Constantine in shock.

"How can you know it's safe?" She muttered, looking exhausted as she forced herself upright.

Instead of elaborating on his passionate response, he stared down at the much shorter girl with his _I am Constantine Aquila, how dare you doubt me, you peasant_ expression. A sad smile flitted over Mags' lips. Constantine was the type of man she doubtless would have found unbearably full of himself back in Four, but, with their lives in danger, his arrogance was insignificant compared to his strengths. Fife seemed to share that opinion since she simply lifted her eyes skywards.

"Tomorrow then, it must be past eight pm. We need to find somewhere to sleep. I'm drained and my head is killing me," Mags said.

Mags suddenly noticed that she wasn't the only one grimacing in pain. Both Fife and Constantine wolfed down some of the tablets. She suspected there had been something in the air beyond the smell. Slowly, the pain behind her eyes decreased to more comfortable levels. They headed back towards the depths, hoping the maps would not fail them. Hoping they would find more than mysteries and death.

* * *

**AN: While calling the next chapters cheerful might be a stretch, they won't meet poor widowed rebels on a regular basis. Oh and every event, no matter how sad or seemingly pointless has an actual plot point.**

**Please review^^  
**


	11. Truth

They were all but running, desperate to get away from it all. Atli was alive, they had failed the rebels' second _test_. Mags did not regret not having killed the Scavengers but she doubted that they would be welcomed in the Citadel again, and that hurt more than she had thought it would. She felt the gnawing bite of shame tear at her insides. They had only caused more death and had solved nothing. Mags removed her gloves and wiped her stinging eyes.

They had elected to sleep in an isolated place of the sixth underground and were a third of a mile away. Hopefully they would reach it within the hour.

Fife cursed as she hit another asperity. Their single working torchlight was running out of batteries and barely providing enough light to read the map.

"Can't see a thing," she grumbled, "Can we slow down a bit?"

Mags shared a heated glance with Constantine. His lips twitched but he kept silent. He could be so infuriating. The short-haired girl being the heaviest sleeper of the three was already suspicious, but her obvious lack of experience in gloomy settings was an insult to their intelligence.

"If you're a homeless orphan, I'm a freaking mermaid," Mags said, her words tumbling out in a half-growl.

Fife started at the sudden aggressiveness. "I never said I was homeless or an orphan."

_What a beautiful example of bad faith_.

"You know that's what you led us to believe. You don't say anything by chance."

Fife crossed her arms defensively. "I had no reason to gush about my family except to indulge your curiosity. And don't take your temper out on me."

Mags' eyes widened. This was the first time she'd heard Fife raise her voice. She didn't answer, not because her question hadn't been valid, it _had_, but to prove she was _quite _calm and not venting at all. She tried to ignore the heat in her cheeks and the voice whispering _Hunger Games_ in her mind.

"You're afraid we'll divulge information that would endanger your family?" Constantine said, stung.

Fife smiled thinly. "My parents haven't done anything that may warrant more than a fine or a token beating, and that's if they upset an ill-tempered peacekeeper who'd want to abuse his power."

"In the last nine years, or ever?" Mags said, realizing she already knew the answer. She had focused on Constantine's allegiances because prosperous families in Panem had to collaborate with the Capitol, but Fife's loyalties were just as obscure.

"You let the Capitol determine your every action. When they act, you react," Fife said after a tense pause, "their propensity for making our lives miserable makes you feel the need to do something. I won't spend my days hating the world I live in. It would be giving the Capitol power over every fiber of my being instead of just over a portion of my lifestyle. I am free. My family is free. You want _everyone_ to be free. You are a better person than I am, Mags, but I at least can claim to be happy in a district where the word itself seems taboo. _That_ is truth."

It was as if Fife had grown a foot, her dark eyes swirled with mesmerizing passion. Mags recoiled as if struck. Her anger fled, leaving only the horror of the day's events. She felt so small, like she was trying to apply naive principles to a world much too big and complex for her.

"You truly believe people like me empower the Capitol?" She whispered.

Fife stared at her in disbelief. Her eyes gained a bright sheen, as if she was about to cry. "No, Mags! That would be like saying an abused woman who doesn't accept everything from her husband deserves to be beaten. What I mean, is that nowadays many people just complain and insult peacekeepers." She looked so forlorn that Mags pulled her into a hug. "They treat people who dare act happy as traitors. How does that help?"

A wan smile graced Mags' full lips as she instinctively comforted Fife. She heard the girl's words but her heart violently rejected them. Every day spent watching the Capitol gain power unchecked was a crushing load on every rebel's shoulders. Every day kept the promises they'd made to their departed loved ones unfulfilled. While chastising Esperanza for enjoying her days would indeed be pointless and cruel and no one should forbid themselves to laugh, true happiness could only come when the Capitol was ashes. They could do little back in Four, which was why she had volunteered. She was tired of being helpless.

"You will disappoint me if you are satisfied with that answer, Mags," Constantine said, his head half-cocked as he watched them slowly pull apart. "It sounds like truth, but we still know nothing." A crooked smile split his lips. "It does matter, Fife. You all but admitted that you only trusted with mundane personal facts those you were the closest to. Each of us has to trust the other two with their survival. I need you to see us as people, not as entertaining means to an end."

Mags' eyes widened, finding the chestnut-haired boy's words quite offensive, Fife had been very helpful despite her elusiveness.

Fife's face crumpled. Her shock was swiftly molded into a mildly hurt expression but Mags knew Constantine's cruel words had struck deep. Mags was tired of feeling that she had to prove herself to get consideration from Constantine. She had never met anyone with both so much potential for greatness and such an unsympathetic attitude towards those he considered weak. And he actually seemed to _like_ Fife. She glared at him, squeezing Fife's shoulder to convey her disagreement.

"I don't…"

"Then it shouldn't matter, Fife. Just tell us about the twenty-four hours before the reapings," Constantine said, as if speaking to a cowed child, "trust us."

A frightened light had entered Fife's eyes, so at odds with her earlier fire. She was just a five foot three teen in a hostile environment, backed into revealing her secrets. Mags' heart reached out to her and she slipped her hand into hers.

"Okay," Fife finally said, wariness mixed with a stranger emotion, almost akin to longing, in her voice. She squeezed Mags' hand, a ghost of a smile lighting her face. They slowed their pace as Fife's voice filled the silent tunnels.

* * *

**Fife's POV**

_**Eve of the Reapings**_

A triumphant gasp burst from the seventeen year old's lips as she gave a last twist to her body and climbed out of the narrow crack between the collapsed rotting beams. Fife blinked, her eyes rapidly adapting to the shadows. Cat was right behind her, just as silent but more timid in her movements.

Flexing her sinewy arms to relieve the burning strain, Fife turned towards her friend, glee lighting her face, and gestured at the heaps of collapsed wood, moldy grain and rusty metal cluttering the abandoned old warehouse. "This is a treasure trove, Cat! Look at all the machinery buried under here."

The Capitol had to rub in its victory over them every day like a petulant five-year old, so farmers who broke their tractors had to pay astronomical sums for repairs. It was convenient though: what farmers so desperately needed, the brunette could find and sell to them for fairer sums. For years, blisters had covered her stomach and arms while she had hid on the rough thatched roofs instead of hanging out with the other teens, but the discomfort had been nothing compared to the prize: now peacekeeper watch schedules were forever etched in her memory. They would never catch her.

Some of the derelict warehouses destroyed during the rebellion were under tight surveillance, but most of the peacekeeper presence around them was pure show. You'd have thought people would have tried to come there earlier, to unearth the wealth Nine let go to waste, instead they seemed to prefer to complain about the new tesserae system. Few people acted anymore. Oh, sure, peacekeepers foolish enough to get ambushed got roughhoused every day, but constructive action seemed to have died with the rebellion. On the practical side, it meant all the more spare parts for Fife to scrounge. Most of her old acquaintances would be appalled to discover that she was wealthier than anything they could ever achieve with their back-breaking, Capitol approved, tiresome jobs.

Cat hesitated in the gloom. "Dad's going to smell the rotting grain on my clothes. He's going to know I was somewhere wrong again. He'll be angry."

Fife's smile withered and died. Unfortunately, Cat's words were hardly a surprise. Seeing her fear and guilt sap the joy out of every moment was slowly driving the shorter girl insane.

"Let me adopt you, Cat. Seriously, we're almost adults, it's not like my parents would have to raise you. You'll be welcome at home for the next few years until you find a solid job far away from your old man."

"He loves me, Fife; he doesn't really beat me. He just doesn't want me to break the rules."

Fife could hear her own teeth grinding. There was one adverb too many in that sentence. She knew Cat hated to be a constant disappointment to her bitter, maimed father and that she suffered more from that knowledge than the occasional hard slap. Cold fury stirred in Fife's insides like a venomous adder coiled to strike.

"_His_ rules. He wants you to be a rebel. A useless rebel, because there is no other kind. He wants you to be miserable and hateful because he lost the rebellion," she ground out without raising her voice. That was what people refused to see. Misplaced rebellious thoughts had been wreaking as much destruction as their heartless overlords.

"They believed in a better world, Fife! They poured their hopes, heart and soul in the rebellion and now he's lost everything but me," Cat said, stubborn as always when it came to her father.

And that was why Fife had treasured her company ever since that chance meeting before the reapings. Where other people encountered obstacles, the silver-tongued brunette seldom failed to avoid conflicts. Fife's demands were seldom outrageous but she was also rarely challenged. People were weak, so easily swayed and quick to forget their principles when sung sweet songs. Cat never was, she argued to the end.

Fife threw her hands in the air, her friend's words assailing her ears like an off-key note. It had been _nine years _ago! "They are wallowing in self-pity instead of trying to make the best of what is left. They let the mere sight of peacekeepers ruin their day and then do nothing. What's the point to that?"

"If people were unhappy enough they'd rebel again."

Fife repressed a snort as she pushes the last of the pierced grain sacks off a rusty truck. People were unhappy enough.

"They'd die by the hundreds and lose again," Fife said, "maybe one day we will have a chance against them, but being willingly miserable until then is ridiculous."

She pulled out a metal case from her large clothes and started to dismantle the tractor's engine. Her tanned arms trembled with effort as the rusty parts screeched under the strain.

"It's a question of principle," Cat said, her own arms stubbornly crossed as she walked up to where the shorter girl was standing. She started as half a dozen fat rats scurry out of the nest she has inadvertently kicked.

An indulgent smile split Fife's thin lips. "Over half of Nine agrees with you, yet you're crawling in vermin-infested half-collapsed warehouses with me."

Cat grinned back. "You don't complain. You're curious, you make life seem bright."

"It is. You just don't want it bright; you want it _fair_. So what if we have to work harder than any Capitolite to make a decent living? Just enjoy working hard instead of being envious."

"There will never be another rebellion if people think like you."

"There won't be another generation if people keep thinking like your father. People will get themselves executed before having an occasion to reproduce." Fife's modulated voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "And next time you consider cutting yourself, I'll make sure there isn't a knife in a ten miles radius of where you live."

Cat froze, now staring at the other in wide-eyed shock. As if Fife would not notice.

Fife's lips twisted in anger, a singular passion infusing her words as weeks of worry came crashing down. "Damn it, Cat! You're my only friend. You're not selfish enough to allow yourself to be happy without feeling guilty but you're selfish enough to die on me?"

"Not dying…" Cat mumbled. She gulped as Fife's eyes burned into hers.

"Dad said he'd pay a peacekeeper to trail me if I kept hiding things from him," Cat said, her voice breaking. "Can you imagine Dad even being polite to a _peacekeeper, _Fife? To him they're all carbon copies of the guy who shot Mum. But he'll do it for me because he's so sure I'm wasting my life! I don't want to cause him even more pain." The blue-eyed girl lowered her gaze. "I don't want you to get in trouble because of me."

A spike of fury shot through Fife. How dare that man make his daughter feel responsible for him! Where had he been when Cat had cried in her arms, too distraught to speak of her nightmares? Where had he been when Cat's brother had been executed for having stolen a peacekeeper's hand gun? It was high time Cat stopped having to deal with that kind of crap. Cat should never have insisted on so much secrecy in the first place. It wouldn't have been that difficult to feed her father a harmless lie years ago. Fife felt guilty for not having seen it earlier.

"Let's introduce me to your dear daddy then," Fife said with forced cheer.

Cat was the exception to the girl's rule. She was the only person outside her family who saw _her_, Fife Chican, con artist extraordinaire, instead of the masks. Fife always had a reason when she interacted with a stranger, but bonding was never it. Cat's father was just another former rebel who died in all but name when the Capitol had won. Nauseating. But this time, Fife had a reason. She couldn't let Cat hurt herself anymore.

"But you can't! You… you'll lie. Of course you will." Cat said with a small smile.

"As little as I can," Fife promised seriously. Too many lies were dangerous and lost their strength. It was the first lesson her parents had taught her. A lesson Fife had been too cocky not to learn the hard way.

The two teenagers soon slipped into the crowd of beaten-down workers dragging their feet on their way home. There Fife was just an anonymous shadow. Every aspect of her was carefully calculated, from her dim lowered gaze to the nondescript large clothes she wore, her withdrawn posture and the uneven dark-brown hair falling messily below her ears and all around her face. She thrived on being invisible, on being dismissed as a harmless stupid street kid, until she had something to offer. Her line of work was a dangerous one, filled with lies and deceit. She was never the same person twice and worked hard at erasing her tracks. She couldn't afford to matter to people. She couldn't be remembered. Others were not trustworthy.

The red sun was nearing the horizon when the two teenagers finally reached their destination. Cat's house had survived the rebellion with little damage, but what damage had been done had been conserved like a testament of valor. Fife minutely shook her head, wondering how a man could possibly feel greater pride on having cracked windows than by offering his only daughter a warm hearth.

"Where were you?" A gravelly male voice called as the splintered wooden door creaked open.

"We need to talk, Dad," Cat said, swiftly removing her shoes and wiping her dirty hands on a rag next to the door. Fife flashed the blonde a fond smile, touched that the other felt so confident in her ability to make her father see the light.

Chow Emmerson had once been a very handsome man, but grief and bitterness had twisted his features beyond recognition. He lay sprawled on the couch, a rough beard aging him twenty years, his crutch discarded on the floor. His hollow eyes barely glance at Fife.

"Picked up a beggar, Girl? We've got nothing; the Capitol took everything we had."

_Because you let it take away your hope, because you give the Capitol more power than it actually has._

Nothing in her demeanor conveyed how self-satisfied Fife felt. A beggar. Exactly what the average idiot saw. So much for the paranoia of old veterans…. The old man was in for a shock.

"Peacekeepers would hate to learn what we've been doing. I didn't let Sickle tell you, I thought you'd want us to take dangerous risks." It felt weird to use Cat's real name, almost insulting.

The man finally focused on the unremarkable androgynous teen before him. Fife straightened, graceful as a wildcat, neither concealing her self-assurance nor the intelligence blazing in her dark eyes any longer. Emmerson's hand twitched at the change, danger registering on his features. Fife suppressed a smirk. There was no greater satisfaction than having people cringe when they glimpsed the person behind the innocuous mask. Or at least whatever sliver of truth she deigned to feed them.

"Peacekeepers must think us harmless. They mustn't look at us twice," Fife said, her face alight with schooled zeal.

Fife lived for the power she had over others. In a world in which everyone's destiny was set in stone from birth, she made her own rules. Discipline was the master word; neither her nor her family would degrade themselves by abandoning their principles to satisfy base cravings. She was no criminal unmindful of the misery of others. She was a survivor. As had been her intent, Emmerson believed he had met a rebel kin. He narrowed his eyes in interest, a fanatic note entering his voice.

"You were afraid I'd ask to join you? That I'd ruin your outings with my big mouth and bad leg?" Emmerson said, with a harsh self-deprecating laugh.

Fife let her gaze drop and guilt flash on her face. Cat's father had to come to his own conclusions. She would not utter a single lie. His oblivious mind would do the work for her.

The rugged man barked another laugh. "You're probably right too." His expression grew softer, and sadder. "You don't think I trust you, Sickle?"

"I do, Dad," Cat hurriedly replied, shooting Fife a fearful look "It's just…."

The short-haired girl put a reassuring hand on her best friend's shoulder and infused thick emotion in her voice. "Every child is afraid to fail, especially when they have parents that have done so much for a cause. As long as you are ignorant, you are safer. She cannot lose you too, Mr. Emmerson. You're the last of her family."

People were like music instruments: there were many different types and most required talent and dedication to master, but once mastered, the strings to pull were always the same. Fife played on Emmerson's love of his daughter, on his all-consuming hatred of the Capitol and on his desperate wish for revenge. It was so simple to subtly make him come to the conclusion that he was too old and damaged to be more than a liability. The girl had never had to use the words; the man's self-loathing had spoken for her.

While Fife grieved for Cat, who would never have the family she deserved, she felt no guilt at her guile. It was quite the opposite, elation coursed through her veins as she savored the moment like a child tasting winter's first snowflake. By the time night had fallen, Emmerson was more joyful than he'd been in years, now convinced that Cat would succeed where he had failed, setting the ground for a new rebellion.

Fife was almost skipping as she left the house, her short dark brown hair bouncing around her face. She shut the door behind her, leaving Cat alone with her father.

She leisurely walked back to the crooked and cozy house she called home.

A fit boy was in her arms before Fife even had the chance to remove her finds from her large pockets. Her face broke into a smile. Her little brother was much too kind and emotional to ever follow her steps. He kept their secrets but was happy to attract attention and be known. Tabor was popular and flirtatious. Sometimes Fife felt betrayed, because he was the one person she should have been able to count on to run the streets with her. Other times she was just happy for him, because it meant he wouldn't ever have to be as strong as she was.

"Are they taking a nap?" She said, pointing to the corridor leading to her parents' bedroom.

Tabor nodded before flashing her a rueful grin. "Come, I'm cooking tonight. I was hoping you wouldn't be long."

"What are you making?" She could have eaten just about anything.

"I don't know, but the water has just started to boil," he said with an angelic smile, not _quite_ batting his thick eyelashes.

Fife tousled his artfully unkempt hair, a knowing smirk on her lips. "Fine, I'll cook."

"Fife is right, Darling. Tabor is awfully spoiled."

Fife flashed her parents a warm grin, still amazed after all these years at how silent they could be. She hadn't heard them arrive. They were always out at odd hours, catching sleep when they could. But the wrinkles on their weathered faces were marks of laughter as much as hardship and that was what gave the teenager hope in the future.

"My baby is just good at getting his way. It's genetic," her mother replied gaily, stealing a kiss from her husband.

Fife rolled her eyes, her smile still in place. If she could have half of what her parents shared when she was their age, her life would be bliss. Utterly unabashed, Tabor winked at his sister and pulled a chair out. He sat down with a content sigh before jerking his thumb at the bubbling pot. Fife didn't even pretend to be annoyed. Tabor's grateful smile rendered the effort trivial.

Dinner was always entertaining. Outstanding liars made brilliant storytellers. Her parents dealt in secrets more than in wares and were gifted with the ability to spin the most mundane events into fascinating tales.

* * *

Fife woke up at the crack of dawn. She tiptoed to the living room, where her mother greeted her with an impish grin. Typical.

"I've never stopped you from dolling me up on Reaping Day," Fife said with a fond smile.

"Girly clothes are flashy but they're so much fun!"

"People should dress in their work clothes. The Capitol would hate it."

"Probably, but people like dressing up and feeling attractive, even if there is little to rejoice about. Now be quiet and vain for a few minutes."

The woman's enthusiasm didn't completely conceal her apprehension. It was instinctive, Fife told herself. Even if the chance was tiny, parents couldn't help contemplating their children's death. Rationalizing it didn't erase the sensation that gelid water had replaced the blood in Fife's veins. The girl shivered as her mother's expert hands began to untangle her hair and arrange it into something respectable.

The flowing amber dress caressed her calves as Fife admired herself in the mirror. Amazing how make-up could turn a boring face into something striking. She probably wouldn't make boys drool, but for once, Fife felt pretty.

"Can breasts grow during the night or is it just the fabric that's cleverly cut?" Tabor said as he came in, an impish grin lighting his sleepy features.

His elder sister's eyes narrowed. She loved her boyish body. She would never have been who she was had she had a drool-worthy curvy figure, yet some primal part of her was stung by the comment. A flirtatious smirk birthed on her lips as she walked up to the fourteen year old, letting her hips sway suggestively.

Tabor blushed, awkwardly turning away.

"Little brother dearest, I do not use my femininity as a weapon because it's the best way to make sure a man remembers my face, at least for a while, but it doesn't mean I can't."

"Fife, stop flustering your brother. He's biologically programmed not to think of you as a sexual being. Tabor, don't challenge your sister, she'll win," their mother intervened. Her voice sounded stern but Fife could see that she was inwardly howling with laughter.

"He asked for it," the girl said with a smug smile.

"There is more to being womanly than _boobs_, Treasure."

Tabor flushed even redder "Mu-um!"

The woman's smirk mirrored her daughter's. "Suit up; I'll go shake your father awake."

The four hopped onto one of the crowded buses, careful not to be separated. It was amazing how otherwise non-existent public transport worked wonderfully well when it was to take teenagers to the Reaping Square. It was always in the main farm town; farm towns were much prettier on TV. It was also always surreal, having scores of over-dressed teenagers and their families crammed into the big buses and speaking in hushed whispers, as if any loud noise would tip the odds in their disfavor.

A dozen armed peacekeepers formed a semi-circle near the bus' doors as soon as they stopped. Fife and the others knew the gig: potential tributes to the right, families to the left and no shouting or rude gestures at the uniformed men.

The last rule seemed beyond some people. Holding Tabor firmly by the arm, Fife expertly squeezed her way through the crowd to be among the first registered and avoid a potential stampede. Wild profanity filled the air. Fife chanced a look back. Mud was splattered all over the clothes of a group of murderous looking young teens.

"You do that again, you're dead!" The weedy miller's boy shouted at the peacekeepers, his face red from fury as he pushed his muddy girlfriend behind him.

Fife tugged her brother forward. The fourteen year old resisted, fierce approval etched on his face as he maintained his eyes riveted on the commotion.

Fife often wondered how such a spontaneous kid had landed in their family of fabulists.

"You ever speak out like those cretins and you'd better be prepared to see Mum beaten up."

Tabor started. He jerked his head away from Fife's lips, as if it would make her harsh whisper less true. The girl felt his hand crush her arm but he finally walked up to the official drawing blood, his face carefully blank. Fife planted a kiss on his cheek before heading towards her pen. Oops, _section_.

* * *

_**Back to the present**_

"So how does a non-volunteer react to being reaped?" Constantine asked after a short pause.

Fife wondered if she should despair at his lack of tact. Even a volunteer with dreams of greatness could not be _that_ disconnected from reality. She pulled her hand out of Mags', doubting if the other girl suspected how much she had been desperate for comfort. Now, with her thoughts so close to home, Fife's stomach was quieter, and the urge to crawl into a dark corner and lie there until the memories of the previous days were washed away by time had faded to almost tolerable levels.

Her tone was clipped when she answered. "She faints."

"Really?" Mags said, smothering a small smile.

A shadow crossed Fife's dark eyes.

_She needed to get on that stage. She needed to catch an eventual sponsor's attention. Except she __couldn't__. Her whole life she had chosen what masks to wear and played people like a virtuoso, but never had she had less than a minute to decide what would fool the Capitol into valuing her life._

_For the first time since her early childhood, no answers presented themselves, and the iron control she took so much pride in escaped her._

_The world seemed to shift. Her grasp on reality slipped away._

"Yes, I woke up in front of the escort. Let's not speak of it."

They had the maturity not to press.

"Thanks for sharing this, Fife," Mags said.

The rush of affection Fife suddenly felt for Mags made her deeply uneasy. These were people she may have to kill. They would never have a future together, they could not be friends. Fife inwardly screamed at the injustice of it all and protected herself the only way she knew how.

She flashed Mags a wry grin, hoping her vulnerability didn't show through. "You really believe I'm not lying this time?"

Mags strained expression was hilarious. She turned away, using her dark amber curls as a curtain, and crossed her arms, perilously close to sulking. Fife's grin was truer this time. Now that they were not in immediate danger anymore, it was much easier to push away the crippling emotions that sought to incapacitate her.

"Lies reveal as much as they conceal. However truthful, it was interesting," Constantine said, revealing his perfect teeth.

Fife's lips twitched again despite the sense of unease spreading through her body. Was it the situation that had made her trust these people with information that she had only divulged after years to her best friend? It was a magnificent feeling, to have one's worth recognized, but it the threat to her lifestyle wasn't worth it. This was probably the worst moment to get close to people. She didn't believe that the Capitol had forgotten them and she didn't want her words to find a way back to District Nine. Her parents' happiness wasn't worth it. Many people would want her parents dead for the lives they led, finding it outrageous by their uptight moral codes. Moral codes that simply let to misery in a world of reluctant collaborators.

She had only been called on her lies because she often dealt with strangers, people who, unlike her annoyingly sharp allies, cared little about her and only paid attention to what concerned them directly, people who would never know what a masterful manipulator she was. In her moments of weakness and doubt, Fife had felt cheated because of that. People always dismissed her. Her efforts were known to her alone.

Fife had little experience in establishing real bonds and somehow things were getting too personal, no matter how distant she had tried to keep. She found herself wanting Mags' approval and craving Constantine's admiration. She knew the latter at least was instinctive; she had wisely never sought male attention before but now felt an urge to shine and impress the handsome boy. She had even caught herself cursing her slight childish frame and plain face, knowing that while he might appreciate her personality, she would never catch his eye as a woman. It was pathetic.

She would do what she had always done. She would balance truth and lies and make the best of her predicament. Unfortunately feelings were entering the equation and she found she really didn't want her two allies to be collateral manage, or to lose their respect.

* * *

**So, has your opinion of Fife changed? Please review.**

**The next chapter will also be in Fife's POV.**


	12. Memories

**Continued in Fife's POV. A lot of answers given and many more questions.**

* * *

Fife almost tripped on a backpack. It lay there, abandoned in the gloom, identical to those from the train. After prodding it with her pike, Mags crouched and carefully emptied it.

Fife stood back, just in case. She was almost pressed against the cold wall, ten feet away, when it was obvious the bag wouldn't explode.

Two heavy torchlights, a luminous wristwatch and a rather clean blanket. Fife eyed them suspiciously. _What a fortunate combination._ Well, there was no rule stating luck should only be bad and other tributes might have walked these corridors. Another part of her brain had broken into a litany of curses, urging her not to accept this, to stop and think. She ignored it. Thinking too much about the last days' events would destroy the illusion of calm she had painstakingly wrought._ Focus on the present, don't think too much or you'll break down_. It was the antithesis of her life philosophy; she'd always carefully planned every move before. Today, it was survival.

"Those could've saved you some storytelling, Fife," Constantine said as he picked up a torchlight. The girl could perfectly picture his cocky little smile despite the gloom. She couldn't resist.

"Did you two notice that Chase's eyes didn't leave your ass when we were introduced to the various scavengers, Constantine?"

Apparently he hadn't. "Excuse me?"

His aghast expression was priceless. "He'd never have shot such a pretty boy," she teased, stifling a guffaw at his reaction. Odd how a male would feel threatened rather than flattered by the attention, even if it was unwanted. She wouldn't mind a girl crushing on her so much. It was nice to see Constantine a little off balance.

"You lie."

Why would he automatically think that, _honestly_. "No need to. Why do you think he walked behind you instead of next to Atli despite the fact that we were armed?"

She couldn't believe they _hadn't_ noticed. Chase had been the most dangerous person there, after the insane Atli. She almost shivered at the memory of him patting her head.

"Stop it, Fife," Mags said, unable to entirely conceal her smile at the other's outrage.

Fife obeyed, hiding her smirk.

The wristwatch read 9.37 PM. Fife yawned. While she had physically had worse weeks, she had never lived at such high stakes before. Lying to Atli had pumped dangerously high amounts of adrenaline in her veins. The thrill of deceiving such a fanatic, of being responsible for lives other than her own, had surpassed anything she had ever felt, but now that that strength had left her, there was only fear left. A draining fear that made her yearn for a soft blanket and a warm fire. The specter of Teal's husband's death loomed over her like a suffocating presence.

Mags had thrown herself in front of a gun without a thought, Constantine had risked his life just as much, and she... she had waited for them to save her, applying all her willpower to keeping her screams inside and her legs functioning. She was so useless when faced with violence. Talking about Cat and her family had helped. It reminded her that there was a life beyond the dark tunnels and their unsavory inhabitants. Fife wondered if something had changed between her and her allies. She felt naked, as if she had spent the ace up her sleeve.

There was no water trickling down the corridors anymore. They had reached the northernmost wing of the level and the tunnels had suddenly shrunk. The walls were lighter in color, of a rougher material. Fife could see they had nothing to do with any kind of waste disposal. They were walking towards a storage room of some kind. Blankets, piles of folded blankets of various materials, from aluminum to synthetic wool, were stacked in over two dozen piles.

As they entered the large room, Constantine and Mags in front as usual, Fife wrinkled her nose. A faint smell of sulfur mixed with something else hung in the air. The source was easy to pin-point. It wasn't a stack but a messy hip-high heap sprinkled with yellow dust that seemed abandoned near the door. A heap which hadn't been here long. Fife curiously stepped towards it.

It moved. A large hand caught Fife's foot. Silver nails longer than any she had ever seen dug into her soft flesh. The girl gasped in fright and pain. Her knife was out of her belt and into the man's bare sickly chest before he could utter more than another gurgle.

She pushed the lead weight back under the fabric, suddenly processing what she had done and not wanting to risk her health by touching him.

"Hesitating isn't always a bad thing," Mags muttered, looking conflicted. "Do you do this often?"

Had it been anyone else, Fife would have slapped her. Her heart was pounding painfully, as if threatening to flee her ribcage were the rest of her body stubborn enough to stay. No one friendly burst out of piles of rotting clothes; hesitating could very well get her killed. Fife began wiping her knife on a clean blanket, her hands so stiff that she was afraid to cut off all circulation.

_A group of street-youths spared her suspicious glances. At this time of the evening, people had to start fleeing their turfs. Beneath her large coat, Fife absently signaled them, her hand knowing the codes by heart. They backed off, satisfied. Under a dozen guises, Fife had talked to each of them._

_Her eyes darted to the broad-chested lone figure standing in the corner. The thug was stepping towards her. The girl's hand fastened over the deceptively immaculate knife concealed in her belt. She despised spilling blood, but valued her life too much to ever hesitate. She didn't bother to guess whether he__ was too foolish, or simply hungry and angry at life, not to back off. People vanished every week and she had no intention to meet their fate. _She had killed once already, a miserable live snuffed out, an unnamed corpse dumped by uncaring peacekeepers into a common grave. A pair of hazel dead eyes that sometimes still haunted her nights.

_"You got something I could use, Baby."  
_

_His shark-like smile reminded her of the reason she tried so hard to pass for a boy.  
_

_Fife didn't wait for the man's hand to tighten its grip on her shoulder.  
_

_Two pairs of dead eyes, hazel and chocolate, sometimes haunted her nights.  
_

Fife hated killing, she just loved life more. One swift stab before her will left her was all that was needed. She was agile but also physically weak, she couldn't count on breaking free from any male assailant. If she truly felt threatened, she would kill again. Dealing with the guilt was nothing compared to the permanent state of being dead. Recent events hardly helped her keep her cool.

"I try not to," she said, her eyes flashing as she continued to hastily wipe her knife on the cloths. "And please no words on burial, Constantine. He has leprosy or something."

She didn't want to look at his grayish marked skin again. This place was a nightmare, sickness and insanity lurking behind every corner.

The aristocratic boy sighed. "I wonder what my use is if you ladies don't even need to be rescued..."

Fife chuckled weakly, impressed by his effort at distracting them. He'd rescued them from Atli promptly enough. "Apparently, charming wit."

"Thank you," Constantine said with a small bow. "I wonder why Chickaree didn't mention this second group of rebels."

Fife lowered her eyes, hiding the flash of hate that the name sparked. She had just been a tool to those rebels. They were hollow behind the illusion of great objectives, their lives about murder and revenge, meaningless repetitive days spent in the Citadel in the wait of some big opportunity to break the shackles the Capitol held Panem in. _Selflessness for the cause_ they had called it. They strove to erase everything that made them special, human, every bothersome spark of individuality. She had seen only a city of dead beings with beating hearts.

Pleading blue eyes on a battered face. Those would haunt her nights forever, and _for what?_ That peacekeeper should not have been hers to kill. She _hated_ Chickaree.

"Speculation can only sap our courage," Mags intervened, "we can't predict the future."

"Mum can actually," Fife said with a little smile, glad to leave the hidden corpse behind. She wondered what news of the crash had reached the Districts.

Her mother played fortune teller on occasion. She did not advertise it but there were always those desperate enough to put their faith in the intangible. Fife had truly believed in her esoteric powers before the woman had revealed to her the magic of _psychology_. It had been a very disappointing day for the seven year old. Cards telling the future had sounded _so_ much cooler. Fife's fingers closed over the tarot card her mother had slipped her in the Justice building. The Devil, reversed. Its symbolism made her lips twitch further. _Detachment, breaking free, power reclaimed._ Her family had faith in her. She had to break free of the darkness around her. She could rise above it, dismiss it, like Mags and Constantine seemed to do so effortlessly. She would find a way to come back.

A spike of dread extinguished her smile. Mags had frozen.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Fife whispered, afraid her own heart had stopped for real, "you look _afraid_, Mags."

Mags showing honest, blood-freezing fear, did not fit with what Fife had learned to accept from reality. Her allies were the dispassionate ones, the ones that saw violence and barely cringed, the ones that had volunteered to brave this hell, the ones that had accepted to toy with death. Crippling terror was what Fife had struggled to hide from the day of the crash, what kept her eyes riveted on her surroundings to avoid thinking about the future. She couldn't afford to show too much fear. She had seen how Mags and Constantine had looked at Gyan. Eyes so full of pity, blaming the Capitol for its cruelty no doubt, at least in Mags' case. Fife had to act strong. Fortunately, acting was in her blood. Fife swallowed back her fears and forced all her nightmares in a dark corner of her mind.

She shivered, hugging herself.

"It can't just be a fluke," Mags said, a faraway look in her green eyes. "I dreamed of your interview with Marcus Flickerman. You told him your mother saw the future. He asked you about his. You said his son would go far. How could I know…?"

"He has a son?" Fife said, jumping on the occasion to make distracting conversation.

Fife's curious expression dissolved into a frown. The coincidence was suspicious. But dreams not dreams? Dread stiffened her body as the girl hesitantly decided to test that theory. "Constantine, what would you have done in training? Showed off with swords?" She said, keeping her face blank.

_Please say yes._

Constantine arched his eyebrow, looking affronted. "I do not need to train."

_How can this be?_

Fife slowly nodded; her eyes wide as she struggled to process the information. Dreams not dreams, but how? "No. You'd have watched. Your family crest is twin eagles circling a castle on a peak. On a ring you have."

Constantine's face darkened. He took a step forwards. "You searched me as I slept?"

Fife blinked, backing away from the now lethal looking youth. Rapid sentences tumbled out of her mouth. "No, I didn't. I promise. I dreamed of it, in the library. I was in a training room in the Capitol. You fought with that girl, Mirabelle. She called you a weakling for not training. I didn't think twice about dreaming of you acting aloof or having a golden ring. But it's impossible that my brain would conjure the exact crest."

Her words seemed to suck all the warmth out of the aristocratic boy's fiery eyes. He removed his token from his shirt and slid it on his finger. "I didn't want to soil it," he said, his thumb caressing the carved crest.

It was the same design. Fife heart leapt to her throat. She feared she would be sick.

"Memories," Mags whispered. "That's why I had such strong gut feelings about some of the others or why alliances appeared so quickly after the crash. We already knew each other."

When Constantine's fury flared once more, it was so palpable that Fife took another step back. "The Capitol touched my brain?" he growled, his hand white on the handle of his sword.

The idea was terrifying. Fife had heard nightmarish tales of prisoners being freed to sow discord, their perception of reality addled by whatever lies the Capitol had planted in their brains. Fife slumped against one of the stacks, frantically replaying her reaping day, searching for any holes. How could she trust herself if her mind had been tampered with? What else had they changed? Was this even real? A simulation of this magnitude seemed impossible but if her critical thinking skills had been altered...

"Mags, what exactly did I say during my interview?" She said, desperation causing her to grasp the other girl's arm and shake her slightly.

"If we were in the Capitol, these could very well be the real Games. No cannons, no arena but the Capitol is watching," Mags whispered.

Fife's thoughts were jerked to an abrupt halt. She let go of Mags and shook off all the parasitic questions threatening to give her another migraine. Again she had lost herself in details instead of focusing on the big picture. Again she had been a coward, not daring to go beneath the superficial, to risk discovering that she was not in control. Guilt invaded her at not having shared her early disbelief with the others. She'd let the sight of the mangled train override all that she knew about mechanics, and now they would pay the price. Why hadn't she said that it was impossible to cause a train to derail from the inside by doing something that go grease on your arms? Why hadn't she pointed out there was no access to the engine from the wagons? She had been such an idiot.

"We were all sleeping, no escort or mentor in sight except Vicuña," Fife began frantically, "and the kids from Six having grease up their arms when there is no way that's how you get a train to derail, even if they'd gained somehow access to the machinery…. And the train itself! We'd have won the rebellion if Capitol machinery was so prone to burning and blowing up. These _torchlights_, just there for us to find in the middle of nowhere, right when we needed them…. Everything that happened… oh sweet mercy…." Fife said, struggling to control her ragged breathing.

What did the Capitol expect of them? Were some of those rebels spies? What was being broadcasted? Had she inadvertently said something wrong? What had possessed her to trust Mags and Constantine as if they'd been alone! She turned on herself, her eyes frantically searching for small cameras. She'd heard of insect-looking robots finding rebel spies during the Dark Days. She saw nothing but wasn't reassured in the slightest.

She almost screamed when Constantine let out a sharp chuckle.

"No tribute saw fit to act. The Capitol could be finally seeing how we are when we believe ourselves alone. This is brilliant."

Fife could not find it in her to share his mirth_. This _had just severely compromised her survival chances. She could feel her mask slipping. She balled her hands and clamped her mouth shut to hide the tremble in her fingers and silence her chattering teeth. A shiver run up her spine. Cold, she was suddenly so _cold_. And angry. So angry at Constantine for daring to laugh. That idiot had volunteered. He had _everything_. A life of wealth, friends he loved and esteemed, power and the opportunity to play political games all day long... And he had come to play noble prince in front of the Capitol's cameras. _Why?_

"Could we have been watched since the beginning?" Mags whispered, looking ill. "They'll never let a too-obvious rebel win."

"What do they want?" Fife exclaimed. "Do you think we have trackers and that we all but gave them a map to the rebel stronghold? But then they could have put a tracker in the peacekeeper, no? And everyone else knows we were in the Capitol for days, so the rebels surely knew the train crash was bogus. And those torchlights, they don't mean much. Anyone would need torchlights after days in the sewers, it doesn't mean they can see or hear us..." Fife let her voice trail away, disjointed thoughts and questions invading her brain.

The Capitol had to want something from them. If she found out what, maybe she could come out of this alive.

Had Chickaree known? Why hadn't they been told, then? Had they been sent to Atli so that the rebels would be spared the chore of murdering them? Painful anger burned in her veins.

"We do not know how they communicate with the outside world. The more contacts they have the more at risk they are. The Capitol may have infiltrated their sources," Constantine said. He was playing with his unsheathed sword, a telltale sign of nervousness, but stood so straight and relaxed Fife felt tears threatening to mist her eyes. How could they take this in stride?

A frightening ring had entered Mags' tone. "And so we are reminded why the Capitol won the rebellion…. Clever, very clever, but why would they want us to interact with these rebels after having found them? Surely sending a hovercraft now and interrogating us would give them the information they sought if we are just bait to launch an attack?"

Fife pursed her trembling lips._ Rebel_ was a big word that spoke of grand principles and commanded loyalty. She could see Mags' _glow_ every time she said the word. Mags glowing spoke of brave sacrifices but Fife would rather be less of a hero but alive. "Half-crazy people who live in sewers and have forgotten what civilized means. Atli's a disgrace. They _eat _people. The Citadel rebels want to build a super-human race deprived of every flaw and use freedom as an excuse cull out their weak and Teal's group..." She sighed helplessly.

"Fife, I know you really value your life, but please don't try to manipulate me into not seeing them as human."

"Teal's faction should not be underestimated," Constantine said, an odd intensity to his dark eyes. Fife didn't have the strength to read more into it. She vowed to keep an eye on him later.

"You see even your worst enemies as humans, Mags. I'd never succeed. I'm just challenging their ability at offering a true haven for the rest of us."

Fife really didn't want Mags to demand they risk their lives for them. She wanted to go home and hug her parents. She wanted to teach her little brother about girls and life and find a man who would understand her. She wanted to fight with Cat about whose first-born baby was the cutest. She wanted to see the sun again, at least one last time.

"Stop screwing with me," Mags snapped.

Fife looked down and kept quiet. Playing games, guiding people's thoughts where she wanted them to go, that was her only true talent. She had been playing against the greatest foe of them all, the all-powerful Capitol, holding on to tenuous hope, only to discover that all was maybe already lost. She fought down a devastating wave of helplessness. Her arms tightened across her slight frame.

She started as Constantine grasped her shoulder, an uncharacteristic softness to his features. Fife felt so blind, outmatched by the enemy, alone in alien territory with people she had little hold over. She wrapped her arms around the tall boy, wishing the dark tunnels would disappear and reveal the blue sky, wishing Tabor was here, to give her faith when the world was slipping from her grasp.

"The moon was too full on the first night," Constantine muttered, "I had foolishly thought fumes in the air had altered its shape to the eye. A week of memories has been stolen from us."

Fife's lips twitched despite herself as she leaned in his embrace. She could perfectly picture Constantine mourning the dullness of humanity while contemplating the stars. Him and Mags were so odd, holding ideas dearer than reality. Yet if it made them strong, Fife was glad to let them be.

"I smelled it. They'd washed my reaping dress. It didn't smell like anything. It had smelled like Mum's detergent just hours before. I just dismissed it," Mags said, looking furious.

A strangled giggle escaped Fife's lips as she still clung to Constantine. Had Mags been in Nine, Fife would never even have considered trying to con her into anything. The young woman's confidence was unwavering, her beliefs too rooted, and she lacked the pettiness that made others so easy to play. But her emotions… Mags was an open book, displaying an integrity and a courage that humbled one into trying harder with their own lives. Yet Fife had just glimpsed a confused child struggling for a solution. A solution that maddeningly refused to reveal itself.

"What if they actually have means to monitor us like in real Games?" Fife said, repeating Mags' earlier question. "Broadcasting devices shouldn't work under so many layers of stone. Many of those rebels are from Three, they must be aware of the risks, but Capitol technology may have evolved."

She now cursed her poor and all too specialized education. She knew almost nothing of electronics. She suddenly missed Gyan.

"It doesn't matter, does it?" Mags said, looking drained. "The rebels are using us. We are using them because we have no better plan. The Capitol is using us. We can try to do what's right and survive. Right now, let's see what we can influence. If we've been tracked, they already know where the rebel base is. If they have cameras, they have a copy of the maps. If they can hear us, they already know where our loyalties lie and there is nothing we can do about it."

The brunette had never seen Mags so crestfallen. She admired the girl's focus, wondering how she could find it in her to act after everything they'd learned. Fife just wanted to sit down and sleep, hoping for a miracle.

"I'm not the only one here who needs a hug. Thank you," she whispered to Constantine, loosening her hold on him.

Mags smiled as the handsome young man gallantly brought her hand to his lip before pulling her in a tight embrace.

Behind her grin, a part of Fife despaired once more at the bubbling attachment warming her heart at the sight of the other two tributes. She swallowed back tears. Now that they knew that this was a twisted version of the Games, she couldn't hope to escape anymore, only one would win.


	13. Conflict

**Thanks for your reviews to the previous chapters. **

**Back to Mags' point of view**

The night had provided rest but not dispelled their fears. On the contrary, it had crystallized them. Mags knew that she wasn't a very imaginative person. Imagination turned shadows into monsters and blew fears out of proportion. Imagination was a curse in war time, especially for common soldiers. But even her down-to-earth mind spun grizzly scenarios as they munched with little enthusiasm through their breakfast of vitamins and nuts.

Mags found herself pacing around her companions. She couldn't afford to take the risk. Only an idiot would fail to see they had been sent there to disrupt the rebel's plans and help the Capitol identify, capture or kill them. Their very presence was a danger to everyone they encountered.

"We could be human bombs for all we know," she said, her eyes wide in horror, "what if we are engineered to murder one of the rebel leaders on sight? Teal said they'd planned something. We shouldn't interfere."

She dearly hoped the young woman hadn't encountered any trouble and felt her stomach churn with guilt. They should have followed her and protected her. What if Scavengers had caught her? They hadn't been thinking.

"So we get out and head for the Capitol?" Fife said, sounding unconvinced.

Mags shook her head. Fife's fear of death clouded her judgment. Mags' mind was set. "We find them and tell them the truth straight away. We can't afford to have them tell us their plans."

Fife exhaled, looking less that pleased. "If we could avoid sounding _too_ expendable…."

"Teal will not have us executed. At worst we will leave," Constantine said with an unwavering confidence that awed Mags but also worried her. She needed to know that she could count on her companions, and the young man didn't sound so rational anymore.

"I wish I had your faith. She has just lost her husband. She could by some twisted reasoning decide it's our fault since we came with Will," Fife said, wringing her hands.

"She won't." Constantine's glare was so dark Mags didn't bother arguing.

Constantine's uncompromising attitude made her uncomfortable. They needed to rest in a safe place before one of them snapped. Their other options were slim. With less than three days of supplies left, they had an even chance of not reaching the Capitol and Mags doubted anything other than murder and death awaited them there. In these tunnels, maybe they could disappear. Mags wondered when her future had become such a dense fog. _Esperanza, where are you now?_

As they stepped down a ladder to the chilly seventh underground, they almost landed on a package.

Three gray uniforms their size and clean underwear were folded in an open box a water-less soap resting proudly in top. A note was pinned to the whole.

Mags gasped in disbelief as she picked up the note. "Humoring us, aren't they?"

So somehow the Capitol knew and somehow they could access even the most remote parts of the sewers. The Gamemakers were three steps ahead of them. Mags ground her teeth in sheer frustration. There had to be a flaw!

"Rat mutts that can climb down ladders, carry boxes and open them?" Fife guessed, evidently having the same thoughts.

Mags' lips curled at the thought of huge rodents stealthily bringing supplies to clueless tributes.

_Good morning tributes._

_You are too deep underground for the Capitol to monitor more than your approximate location. Last night you spoke keywords that were registered by the trigger in your tracker and alerted us that you had identified a sizable part of this year's twist. __Your memories will all return within ninety hours. _

_Surviving tributes: 10/24_

_District 1: Constantine Aquila, 18_

_District 2: Styx Kopis, 18_

_District 4: Mags Abalone, 17_

_District 4: Delphin Vega, 18_

_District 5: Rapid Whelan, 15_

___District 7: Robin Barke, 18_

_District 7: Will Pulaski, 16_

_District 9: Fife Chican, 17_

_District 11: Lila Carroll, 16_

_District 12: Keane Embers, 18_

_May the odds ever be with you._

"Yep, it's the Games alright," Fife said, her voice trembling, "and the first sentences could be utter bullshit for all we know. Except for the memories," she said after a pause, her expression glum. "I should've known better..."

Mags couldn't tear her eyes away from the accursed note. Such elegant cursive, emerald ink flowing on fresh parchment. Such a dispassionate list, death lurking between each line. "Seven, _Will_, is still alive. What are they doing to him?"

"Maybe humans are like lobsters and are boiled alive."

The two girls turned to a deadpan Constantine in disbelief. The young man looked appalled by his own words.

Fife let loose a sharp chuckle. "No, Constantine. Just _no._"

"We should hurry," Constantine said, his face somber, "the Capitol has plans for us. The longer we wait, the less we are masters of our own fates."

They hurried. They didn't need to insult anyone, the masked rebels found them first. A dozen had them circled before they had even heard movement.

"Teal…" Mags began, her hands raised before her instinctively.

"Yeah, we know. Follow us," a man said, "we'll leave you with Lila until we figure out what to do with you."

_Lila? District Eleven was here? _Mags snapped her mouth shut. It was doubtless the best place to be._  
_

"Did she come back unhurt?" Constantine asked, his voice thick with concern.

Mags suspected accumulated stress was making him emotive. His detached demeanor had given way to a more passionate, albeit restrained, behavior. The change made her nervous. She didn't know if it was a good thing. She hoped they could rest here.

"She's fine as can be... You should've killed Atli."

_What are you lot waiting for?_ Mags angrily thought. Constantine was flushed with rage, his whole body shaking. Mags put a supportive hand on his arm, willing him to be reasonable. The rebels chose not to comment as they led towards their hideout. Mags repressed a weary sigh. They probably had reasons, unpleasant but justified ones.

A thick wall opened, and Mags discovered the Citadel was but a small part of the ancient city which spread under District Three. The walls were not decorated but painted in a welcoming pale blue color. They walked through a large empty room before reaching a long corridor with multiple side doors. They were lead in the second side room, an austere but functioning holding cell, with a bunk bed, a table and a few chairs.

"Hello, Lila. We'll come back soon."

The dark-skinned girl inside waved at the rebels. Her round face hardened and a small unfriendly smile flitted over her lips when the door shut behind them.

"The cocky jerk, the opportunist and the mysterious volunteer, ha. Wouldn't have pictured you three as buddies."

Mags and Constantine stiffened. Mags held back a retort. She had no reason to hate Lila and immaturity wouldn't earn them any answers. She wondered where the other's hostility stemmed from. She had few memories of the girl.

"You remember us?" Fife said curiously, the insult having gone straight over her head.

"I never forgot, Fife Chican from Nine. Eidetic memory; must have screwed with whatever they tried to do. The Capitol didn't tell me shit, but I know we're here to ruin things and that just can't happen."

"You don't have any idea as to how we're being monitored or how to escape their tracking devices?" Mags asked. She unfortunately agreed with Lila's blunt assessment of the situation.

"And them murdering our families right afterwards?" Fife muttered with a heavy dose of sarcasm. "Sorry," she added sheepishly when Mags shot her a venomous glare.

Fife was right, curse her.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Constantine accused, anger etched in his features.

"Warning the rebels actually mattered. You'd have started butchering everyone like in an arena."

Mags stiffened again. The last she didn't agree with. She unfortunately also knew that Constantine, proud as he was, would resent her defending him if she spoke up. She hoped that he would know better than to rise to the bait. After all, Lila had been right not to trust them and to seek the rebels out. Why waste time on condemned tributes? Lila hadn't said that the decision had been easy. Mags wasn't sure she wouldn't have done the same thing.

Constantine's lips twisted into a snarl as he stepped towards her. "They were warned, you fool! The whole of Panem knew, except us."

_So much for hope._

Lila slapped him. "You get what you deserve for volunteering."

Fife was unable to smother a smile fast enough. Luckily Constantine couldn't see her.

"So how useful have you been feeling down there?" He said with a cruel smile, apparently intent on shattering their faith in his maturity. "I'm sure your family would be _fainting_ with pride."

"Relax and enjoy the show…," Fife loudly interrupted. Mags felt like rolling her eyes at the three of them. She didn't intervene despite her urge to slap Constantine herself. She preferred to see them shout at each other, even violently, than bottling everything up and snapping at a crucial moment. Justified conflict was something she had learned to see as generally healthy. Besides, it would tell her how her companions reacted when confronted, which could be critical later.

"People who have a spine don't slither away from confrontations."

Constantine seemed set on disappointing her.

"You've been great to the two of us in the last six days. I'm grateful, Constantine, so I'll forget that_ spineless_ jibe," Fife said, her hands on her hips. "You're too much of a gentleman to strangle her and, selfish as I am, I'd rather know what's not a state secret about this place than see you two lock horns."

_Thank you, Fife._

Lila diffidently crossed her arms. "They told me this: roughly two centuries ago, when the earth and the skies grew mad, the government of this country was afraid a world war would erupt as resources grew scarce, especially fresh water and power. They built bunkers to protect the population, storing water and food for millions, imagining a huge underground city able to outlast a nuclear war. The project wasn't finished but even today most of the bunker remains unmapped," she said, as if reciting a text, which she probably was. "The two groups of rebels live in different sections. There is even a huge train line which links this place to another half-built bunker that has mostly collapsed. Most of the food has gone bad but we could live another decade here before running out. Their technology was impressive, much better than ours is today. District Three stumbled on this place twenty years ago when expanding the sewers. They built the seventh and eighth undergrounds clandestinely to link the two."

Fife's black eyes were wide in awe. "That's so cool."

"Would be even cooler if it wasn't the Hunger Games," Lila said bitingly, "shouldn't you volunteers have killed the competition yet? Think you can outfox the Capitol?"

Mags' eyes narrowed in anger, hating Lila's every word. There had to be a way out.

Constantine slapped Lila.

Fife gasped. Mags' hand flew to her mouth to stifle guilty laughter. There were only so many insults one could take. She then sobered and pulled Constantine away from the irate girl. He should have been raised better than this. Slapping women was pathetic.

"Be civil if you expect us to return the favor," the aristocratic boy said with a sneer.

Mags realized then just how pleasant he had been with them. If Lila failed to become more than a nuisance in Constantine's eyes, the two would have to be separated quickly. Her eyes narrowed in annoyance. Lila had no duty to Constantine, he had to make an effort. They _both_ had.

"Do you really want Teal or the other rebels to walk on us punching each other?" She said.

Constantine squared his shoulders, an expression of supreme indifference on his features. "Eleven and I have nothing to say to each other."

Lila snorted. "Stop me from talking, will you?"

Constantine didn't react at all. As far as he was concerned, it was as if the younger girl had vanished from the room. Mags rubbed her eyes, feeling old all of a sudden. How could the two even take themselves seriously, behaving like that?

"Mature, Aquila. Then again, at least you just pretend I'm dead. Better treatment than we had from your sort during the war."

Constantine's eyes didn't even flicker. He was gazing at the door, ostensibly waiting for the rebels.

Mags glared at Lila, finding her patience at an end. "So which is it? We're stupid and hang out with a heartless Career, or we're also heartless Careers? Or maybe we're deluded hypocrites and he's taking advantage of us?"

Yet these were the Games, Lila was right to say all alliances were doomed. Mags had just been so sure that the train had been sabotaged that she had let herself grow too close to Fife and Constantine.

Lila crossed her arms. "Listen, Girl, one way or another, I'll be worm food in a week. If you think you had it tough after the rebellion, come to Eleven and see. These people might be the only shot we have at the Capitol before an age. You won't just wisely sit here and wait, it's plain in your pretty eyes. You're going to screw this up and I don't trust you."

"Rebel solidarity is hard earned, isn't it?" Fife huffed. "We're on the same side…."

"I don't care if you want a La La Land of freedom and happiness with all your heart," Lila snapped. "Screw this up and you're against me."

Mags' shoulders drooped. The stakes were indeed too high for her to take offense at the girl's aggressiveness. Lila looked even tenser than they were. Being alone, afraid that talking to anyone would put them in danger must have been horrible. Mags was humbled by the fact Lila was so willing to die for the rebellion. Maybe Mags was the coward, believing a better world needed her alive in it. She sat next to the girl, extending her hand in offering.

"How about we just wait to see what those rebels suggest for us? We won't dash out to save the day."

Lila's lips twitched as she shook Mags' hand, a tentative light in her eyes. "Please don't. These people did great without us."

Fife was whispering to Constantine. He smiled at her but didn't turn away from the door. Fife rolled her eyes, earning herself a friendly cuff.

Mags shook her head. "Would you apologize for accusing him of being a horrid jerk who deep down just wants us dead?" She lowered her voice. "Just so we can work together? He can be great help."

Lila gaped in disbelief. "Do you remember how he acted before the interviews, Mags?"

"No. But in a Games setting I can imagine he used his arrogance as a weapon to bring the worst in people and have them reveal their weaknesses. It doesn't change the fact that he can be decent," Mags said firmly. Constantine had saved their lives, he deserved some recognition for his qualities.

"It's the Hunger Games again, only _one_ winner," the dark-skinned girl said, looking both bitter and utterly disinclined to apologize.

Just brilliant. Mags had two immature children to supervise. The Capitol wanted them here. If they died before they could do whatever it was the Capitol wanted, the Capitol would just send more tributes. Her thoughts must have shown on her face. Lila dropped her gaze.

"Their leader is Wickers. He's a war hero and he's got about two hundred people down here. It's not much compared to the Citadel's thousands, but they don't just sit around. We never hear about anything back home but there have been raids going on for years. They assassinated Capitolites and everything. Now they've prepared something big, something that will get people to move their asses. The don't see eye to eye with the Citadel 'cause they have this Council of Five which is big on everyone being strict equals and they don't do shit except living on. Here there's some fierce competition between people and strict laws. They're an army alright."

Mags' mind was whirring. Two thousand people in the Citadel, led by a proper council and everything, and two hundred here, all living in separate zones of a bunker that had been made centuries before and that could support, even unfinished, hundreds of thousands of people. She swallowed as she realized the cereal and honey paste she'd eaten a few hours before had been prepared before her great grandparents had even been born. Food conserved for centuries... She'd never realized how much technology had been lost before today.

A sly smile graced Lila's lips. "I can tell you more about Teal if you ask, Aquila."

Constantine muttered something to Fife. The girl chuckled before glaring at him. Locked in a stare, the brunette finally gave up. "You're unbelievable, Constantine."

Fife turned to them with an exasperated smile. "He told me to tell you that he'll ask Teal himself."

"Just apologize," Mags begged in a low voice. She feared Constantine was a lost cause. This was utterly ridiculous.

"Screw him, he can get over himself."

Why people placed their pride in such insignificant things was beyond Mags. Her eyes fell on Constantine's handsome frame, wondering what Lila had been referring to. Slowly, images resurfaced from the recesses of her mind.

_Mags fingered the heavy necklace of pearls that covered her neck and chest. Her cream and blue formfitting dress trailed behind her. She was both wave and foam and undeniably stunning. Her lips formed a thin line. She looked too feminine to be taken seriously. She hoped the Games would not ruin the credibility she would later need in her District. Money would be useless if the citizens thought her a Capitol tool._

_She revised her judgment as she went in the side room next to the interview stage. The girls from One and Ten were oozing sex. Maverick from Ten was a great beauty, but was well… naked. Next to her, Lila was struggling not to scratch at the thick layer of sparkles on her face and chest, but at least her nipples were covered. Mags belatedly decided her costume was very appropriate and vowed to thank her stylist._

_She waited alone against the wall as the other tributes slowly arrived. She hadn't pronounced herself on alliances. Three groups had agreed to host her after the bloodbath. She wanted to see how far they would go during the interviews before making up her mind.  
_

_Rich laughter made her lift her eyes to the door. Extremely handsome in his dark and silver suit, the boy from One was looking down at his scantily clad District partner._

"_I see why you were ready so early, Mirabelle. I think you forgot a part of the dress."_

_He was staring at her chest with a very amused expression. Mags' eyebrows shot up at his impudence.  
_

"_Eyes off, Aquila," the blonde snapped, crossing her arms over her indecent cleavage._

"_There is a target on your bosom. I am but following your stylist's directives."_

_Indeed the colors of the dress grew deeper as they neared the neckline and matched the large earrings. While the young man could have had more class, Mags had seen Mirabelle gleefully bully the untrained tributes during training, promising them grizzly and humiliating deaths. Mags didn't intervene, wondering if Constantine had a plan beyond plain humiliation._

"_Don't lower yourself to the crowd's level," Leon said. He was tall for a twelve year old and handed his district partner his velvet suit jacket. _

"_Keep it. You'll get in trouble," Maverick muttered, her face red, "I can't talk to crowds anyway. Let them look."_

"_He's already in trouble," Constantine said with a thin smile, "let him be gallant. You look like an object, not a person, Ten. It won't serve you."_

"_She didn't ask to be painted instead of dressed!" Lila snapped.  
_

_Mags shook her head. For once Constantine had been truthful, almost decent. The host could not force Maverick to undress if she came with a coat._

_Constantine shot her a condescending glare. "Does that make her look less like an object? Or you less of an over-sized bag of confetti, Eleven? You should have been more polite to your stylist."_

"_And slept with him while I was at it." The dark-skinned girl's voice was dripping sarcasm._

_Constantine cocked an eyebrow at his district partner. "Did you try that?"_

_Pure fury seemed to have stolen Mirabelle's ability to form coherent sentences._

"_Shut your trap, Constantine," the young man from Eleven said, a firm hand on Lila's naked shoulder._

"_With such tempers I can't fathom how you'll survive the arena."_

_The threat had the effect of an electroshock. Mags scowled. It seemed that this was the time for gratuitous insults.  
_

_The chubby girl from Three raised her voice over the din. "We're all stuck here, can't you be kind?"_

"_That's what you promised to your parents? To be kind to the other tributes?"_

_The boy from Nine jumped to her rescue, a scowl creasing his face. "It's called staying human beings, you gold-sucking jerk."_

_Constantine chuckled dryly. "I hope your allies share that opinion. You're wouldn't want to bet your life on non-existing virtue." _

_Despite Constantine's harsh words, Mags couldn't believe how wound up they all were getting. Faces had clouded over as people shot each other suspicious looks. Surely with so much going on, such an obvious barb would not fluster them? Were they all in denial?_

_Mirabelle slapped Jason from Two as he gingerly handed her his suit, aggressively refusing his help. He recoiled. His elbow collided into Lila's mouth, smudging her crimson lipstick. Imprecations filled the air._

_Mags gestured to the empty spot besides her, deciding to give Constantine a chance to show some redeeming qualities. He didn't seem nice but he seemed solid enough to make a good ally, one she would not risk getting lulled into a false sense of safety by. The young man joined her, looking at the group of shouting tributes in wry amusement and scorn. She pursed her lips, irritated by his superior attitude. Only half a dozen seemed to have kept their cool, including a small shrouded figure in the corner. – Who was that?-  
_

"_I shit on your ancestors!" The boy from Nine shouted in his deep voice, pulling the taller Jason in a headlock. The same tribute who had just passionately spoken of civility.  
_

_Mags' eyebrows shot up to her hairline. _"_Hypocrisy, hypocrisy everywhere," she said with a sigh._

_Constantine arched an eyebrow. A small smile graced his lips. "Shhh. They don't know that, the fools."_

_Divide and conquer... Constantine was doing pretty well. Mags wondered once more what kind of personality lay hidden beneath that superior exterior. The Games were hardly bringing the best out of them.  
_

* * *

Wry laughter escaped Mags' lips. Constantine was a jerk who unfortunately knew how to be very charming. A dangerous jerk who would do what was necessary to win. She knew that she was making allowances for him now that she actually was fond of him, but she would not condemn people who were unpleasant in order to honor promises made to their relatives. So many all but gave up and despaired about their tragic bad luck, expecting to be comforted by tributes who were equally doomed. She understood why they despaired, why they banded together, holding onto their humanity, hoping to make it without having to betray their ideals. She was just as guilty of the last but she liked to think she wasn't in denial about her survival chances.

Mags swallowed, feeling her heart reach out to those teenagers she was starting to remember. Those who had suffered from Constantine's words had not deserved it, but she would not blame him for trying to weaken them. They all played in the Capitol's hands when they tried to win, so those who claimed to truly oppose the Capitol had two options, refusing to play and dying or playing but in order to bring change as victors. The volunteers especially had no mitigating circumstances, since they played and would only consolidate the Capitol's rule if they won. She nevertheless hadn't forgotten that, while Constantine had not divulged his reasons for volunteering, it probably wasn't for the good of the Districts.

"There _was_ a target on Mirabelle's bosom," she said in noncommittal tones, only to see Lila's reaction.

Lila's voice was rich with anger and scorn. "You'd defend that ass and speak ill of the dead?"

Mags' eyes flashed. "The dead deserve to be remembered as they were, good and bad. People's mistakes do not vanish with their death. Constantine was harsh but honest, and he didn't make it personal. Everyone else was delaying inevitable choices, even if that made them act more decent. No one who has a clue as to how murder affects a being can say 'let's become friends and then hope you die before I have to kill you' and actually believe it!"

"Our first victor did," Fife chimed in, "oh wait, he committed suicide during the victory tour. You win, Mags."

"One was vicious," Lila shouted, "the Capitol wants us to forget we all were united against them, and he added fuel to the fire."

"_Que dramatica eres!_" Mags said in sheer annoyance, "with everything at stake you let mere words unbalance you? If I call your mother ugly, will you lose your wits and punch me?"

Constantine pulled his blade out of its scabbard. His eyes were still on the door but the warning was very explicit. Mags had to restrain herself not to go castrate him with the hilt of that bloody sword. His top priority should be fighting a way out of this trap not playing knight-servant. This wasn't being noble, it was just childish. She forced her temper down. They had to cooperate.

"What was that?" Fife said with a frown.

Mags bit her tongue, she couldn't be caught imprecating in Spanish. It was the second time already. "Nothing, I was taught to say nonsense in case of actual curses as a kid. It stuck."

"You threw a trident at Jay because he called you a Career?" Fife then exclaimed, blinking rapidly. "No wonder you caught Constantine's eye!"

"I don't remember that," Mags muttered. Unrelated snippets were flashing before her eyes, but she couldn't make much sense of most of them. She suddenly felt ashamed. She'd thrown a trident at someone and was berating Lila for reacting to Constantine's words? When had she become that judgmental?

_I shit on your ancestors._ Jay, Fife's district partner. And that twelve year old from District Ten… _Leon._ People, with faces, names and histories, were replacing simple numbers in her mind. Her good mood vanished entirely.

Fife chuckled. "Tell me when you do so I can tease you again."

Mags lips twitched despite herself. She didn't want them to die. There had to be a way to fool the Capitol.

* * *

** Please review and tell me what you think of Lila.**


	14. Plans

The rebels were back before midday with electronic detectors. They were not wearing masks anymore, just simple gray uniforms. Some of them had Citadel tattoos on their arms and all were closely shaved and short-haired. They swiped the trio from neck to toe, obtaining nothing except faint beeping on their left upper-arms which signaled a classic tracker, an annoyance but not a threat to them. They didn't seem surprised.

A broad bald man in his thirties held out his hand to them. "Lieutenant Sylvan Grey. From what I heard, you thought quick on your feet back there."

Mags shook his large hand firmly, feeling more comfortable than she had in days. Here, hopefully, no one would seek to kill her. Maybe people would even be honest. She felt a genuine smile grow on her face just at the thought. "We can't keep running around and reacting. We need to have a plan."

He grinned at her. An easy grin that Mags couldn't help but mirror. "Quite. Come with me, the four of you," he said, "we have some serious thinking to do."

Grey led them to a much bigger room with conference tables and memorials on the walls.

"What do we know?" he began as they sat down.

"There will be a victor of the Ninth Games," Constantine said, "the Capitol cannot afford to change that. We have a list of the surviving tributes."

Lieutenant Grey eyed it critically. "They must have at least one of those kids underhand. I mean, I could kill you four right now and that poor Will is as good as dead."

Or the Capitol would replace them if they died before they'd done what it wanted them to... Mags clenched her fists painfully. At least in an arena the rules would have been simple and the tributes would have been the only casualties. Here, Mags couldn't afford to think only about herself.

"Is a rescue mission out of the question, Sir?"

Mags felt her heart clench at the hopeful note in Constantine's voice. The four of them were alive only because the lieutenant didn't want to kill teenagers despite the liability. Will was just a name to the rebels, whereas anyone they would lose in the faint hope of rescuing him was someone's friend or family member. They couldn't afford to lose men for his sake, especially since he was tracked by the Capitol. Bile burned Mags' raw throat. Even if they had rescued Will, it would have been pointless. Only one would survive. She wondered how she could have been so sure that her surviving would make the world a better place than any other tribute surviving.

_Four needs a victor. We need to train, for the next rebellion._

It had seemed so foolproof to her, back in the relative safety of her district. Now she wondered if she would succeed, both at winning and at working behind the Capitol's back. If she failed... At very best she'd just have saved Lyria Martin's life by volunteering in her place.

A bitter smile had darkened Grey's face. "Atli's not still alive because we like him, Lad."

"Why don't you kill him?" Mags said, her voice almost breaking from anger. She didn't believe the kinship excuse anymore. "Surely they are no great challenge."

Had they really all preferred to let the Scavengers be than sully their hands? She hadn't been able to kill them either, but she couldn't imagine standing by to let people live like that four floors above her head for _nine years_. She would have found an alternative, anything.

"We'd have to kill every single one of them: they'd scream for blood at Atli's death. That'd be a gruesome hassle but doable," Grey said, his lips curled in distaste as he absently flexed his hand, "but if we massively leave the bunker, the Capitol will know within the hour. The bunker was built to weather a bombing, the sewers were not."

"How would the Capitol know, Sir?" She said, forcing her feelings down as she appreciated the logic behind the excuse.

"The sewers are bugged with heat detectors. They're unreliable in summer on the first level but they give the Capitol a good reading on large groups of people moving between the third and sixths undergrounds. The tunnels on part of the sixth and all of the seventh and eighth undergrounds are clandestine, so clean. We cannot remove the detectors without breaking the walls. The few sewer experts were hunted down efficiently by peacekeepers. There are none left alive."

"The purple moss…?" Fife intervened.

"Raises the wall temperature to 38°C, hence the Scavengers' loving care of that freak plant. Between that and the powerful scramblers they stole from the Citadel, they're pretty safe unless peacekeepers make a massive decent." He smiled nastily. "They tried it twice, with a hundred men and then two hundred. They haven't tried again. Half of them were dead before they reached the sewers' gates."

Mags smiled at the thought. The Capitol needed to be reminded that had it couldn't simply take what it wanted.

Constantine looked deep in thought. "And if the Capitol has the intelligence to drop non-automated bombs over the sewers?"

"The bunker will resist," Grey said, with absolute certainty. "And you know, Lad, they don't have that many bombs left. District Two was heavily sabotaged during the war. With the famine and all the rebuilding, even the Capitol has limited resources, despite what they want folks to believe."

Mags thoughtfully tapped her fingers on her knees. "What else do we know?"

"There will be broadcasts of the Games," he replied, "there have been none since your crash here, _yet_, only replays of Capitol events and commentaries. Even the deaths have been kept silent."

"So they have no live feed," Mags said, hope lighting her face.

"Or they don't want us to think they do," Fife said.

"I really don't think they do or we wouldn't be talking like that," Grey said with a small smile, "as long as you remain here, they can't reach you."

Constantine stood up, his arms shaking with tension. "They knew enough to put the list of the dead where we could find it. They knew that when they stranded us here. To obtain information, they need us alive. They're confident they'll have Games to broadcast! How?"

The rebel officer shrugged, looking quite unhappy at not having an answer. Mags exhaled in frustration. They were taking baby steps. They couldn't have the Capitol spring a trap on them. They had to anticipate, somehow.

"Why don't you kill us, Sylvan?" Lila finally said.

Grey chuckled. "You, kid, are ruthless. Why should we kill you, Lila? You're no danger."

"We could be. We have to be," Lila insisted, her voice breaking, "or this is pointless!"

"Life's a danger. We'll keep you here until we have a better plan."

Lila looked close to tears. "Why would you risk so much planning for our sorry hides? I don't want to live knowing I fucked the rebellion up!"

Mags swallowed painfully, feeling sick at the thought. Yet she couldn't peacefully walk to her execution. There had to be a way out. She now viscerally understood why even the weakest of tributes didn't give up during the Games. She was no better than them.

"How quick a fiery little thing like you is to believe in the all-powerfulness of our _beloved_ Cestoda. They're arrogant! They've been recruiting their top people among the ambitious dissenters in the Districts for years because their population is too small to provide enough good leadership. They have to give power to those that would otherwise rebel. They're all lies and show. We were winning! The Capitol scared the Districts into submission with its last great attack, but we were winning!"

_What! _District people working side by side with President Achlys? Former rebels? Mags' mind reeled, refusing the mere thought. It couldn't be. It couldn't be real rebels. Probably just charismatic people that would betray anything to have their family safe and power for themselves. People who'd given up their morals when the Capitol had threatened them, and had let themselves be seduced by the propaganda fed to collaborators. It couldn't be rebels. It just couldn't.

The Lieutenant brought his huge fist down on the table, making the whole room shake and jerking Mags back to the present.

"We were that close," he shouted, fury twisting his lined face. "That close! They had nothing left after that, and we busted it," he said bitterly. "The Capitol's power is still smoke and lights. They have almost no reserve peacekeepers. In ten more years they will. Time is running out. We failed to get more people here, their hold on communications is too good, the fear too great." He chuckled wryly. "Many will die, but we're nothing without the rebellion."

Mags realized she had stopped breathing sometime during the man's passionate speech. She forced air into her burning lungs while trying to make sense of all he had told them.

Constantine had paled at the mention of massive casualties and Fife was staring at Sylvan as if this was beyond her realm of comprehension. It probably was. Mags could grimly understand why after nine years of attacks and obsessive planning, the cause took a much greater dimension than individuals. It pained her to think it was always the great ones, the ones who fought so hard for the cause that would die first, leaving the people who had stayed in shadows, hoping that others' sacrifices would be enough, to benefit from their actions. Yet people were not all equal in strength and it was necessary that those who found the courage to fight did so.

"So what do we do, Sir?" Mags said.

"You won't meet Captain Wickers, safety reasons. But if you're told he said 'hop', you hop."

"He's the highest ranking officer, Lieutenant?" Constantine inquired.

Grey grinned. "He is. We have an army of eleven score, including a bunch of kids even younger than you. Calling him Colonel or General would sound a trifle self-aggrandizing. And cut it out with the Sir. My Ma gave me a name for a reason."

Mags smiled. "Aye, Aye, Sylvan," she said, earning herself a grin.

Eleven score... So about ten percent of the Citadel's population. Maybe there had been many more a decade before; who knew what the casualty rate was?

"What do _you_ want to do?" He said, gesturing to the three men outside the door.

Mags found herself at a loss. What did she want? She wanted to win without compromising the rebels. Therefore she would have to kill Fife and Constantine or do something dangerous enough to get them killed without dying herself. She felt like a horrible person.

"Would Teal consent to see me?" Constantine said, his usual self-assurance absent.

Mags' heart clenched. The man had died in Constantine's arms. She couldn't imagine words of comfort that would soothe his turmoil, let alone Teal's pain. A part of her wished never to see the rebel woman again, to be spared the anguish and feeling of helplessness.

"Of course, just respect the fact she might kick you out, lad," Sylvan said, his face grim, "Garnet will show you the way."

"Yes, Sir."

A older man with a blind eye led him outside. _Garnet_. Precious stone names were usually given in One.

"Do you have people from every district here?" Mags said.

Sylvan nodded, a proud smile lighting his creased face. "One to Thirteen, and even a bunch of Capitol renegades I'd trust with my first-born's life."

_Fancy that_. Mags smiled at the thought. But if some District people could turn coat so easily, there was no reason some Capitolites could not have a conscience.

"I'm sure Lila and Mags have a ton of philosophical and technical questions on rebellions and such," Fife began with a hopeful expression, "but I'd really love to explore the non-critical zones of the bunker. It's just too wicked."

Mags shook her head. Fife's priorities would always astound her. How could that girl prefer exploring some furbished underground rock to finding out what Capitol propaganda had kept hidden from them all these years?

Sylvan's lips twitched. "You and Fix are going to get along brilliantly."

"It's Quark to newbies," a young man said in playful tones. "Come on, can't say no to an order to have fun," he said with a huge grin as he enthusiastically grasped the shorter girl's arm.

He was almost bouncing as he left the room. Fife shrugged brightly as she flashed them a farewell smile.

Mags stared at them, astonished someone would be look so happy and carefree in a place like this.

"Those who came here too young are always a little crazy," Sylvan said, rubbing his chin. "Fix took Thirteen's bombing very hard. He never misses a chance to enjoy the little gifts of life now. I wish more were as cheerful as the lad."

District Thirteen, home to the brave men and women who had initiated the rebellion. There was nothing left of their proud industry except videos of a barren wasteland. None had escaped the bombings, such was the Capitol's lack of concern for human life. Mags could barely think about it without losing her temper. They were all just parts of a partially expendable workforce to their heartless leaders. Somehow justice had to be restored.

"How old?" She asked, her voice tight.

"Eighteen. He only ever saw war. We'd better make it worth all those kids' sacrifices."

Mag tried to imagine what it would have been like, growing up with her parents in a place like this. She felt wary just at the thought. Guilt assaulted her for being grateful at the thought of having missed such a great opportunity to keep the Rebellion alive. How selfish of her to put her own comfort first! She should be thrilled to be here, to have the chance to make a difference.

Sylvan put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't feel guilty for having played in the sun as a teenager. You've got plenty of time to make a stand." He then turned to Lila. "So, you two are the ones who believe in the rebellion. Good, everyone should. Now ask away."

"How hard would it be to get peacekeepers to turn on the Capitol?" Mags said, remembering how disabused many of the older law-enforcers who held no particular love of violence had seemed in Four. District Two's population was almost the same as the Capitol's, if they could shatter their belief the Capitol was worth protecting...

"Those District people in charge, can't you offer them a better deal?" Lila said at the exact same time.

Sylvan grinned.

* * *

**Constantine's POV**

"How do you bury your dead?" Constantine said, breaking the silence.

"There are large pools of acid in the city above. The worthy deeds of the departed are consigned in the ledgers. "

Constantine nodded. Garnet's laconic tone made clear that the man had answered out of manners and would not enjoy a conversation. He briefly wondered what worthy deeds Nexus' ledger would read, but was soon distracted. There was only one person his thoughts kept coming back to.

Teal had haunted his thoughts since she had disappeared in the dark tunnels, looking as if she'd crumble with every step under the weight of her morbid load. She'd looked so frail and vulnerable, her beautiful face stubbornly refusing to go slack, bravely holding on to any remnant of fiery emotions to withstand an assault of tactless questions that had no place in a time of mourning. She had guided them to safety pushing aside her own sorrow until they had a path to follow and had braved alone both hostile sewers and the toxic waste above to honor her dead husband. She could have faced a thousand gruesome deaths as she had traveled up those inhabited levels without protection. She had refused his help and, out of respect, Constantine had relented, finding excuses -that it would be intrusive, that she was a soldier used to defending her own life- and later cursing himself for it. For almost a day, gelid fear had clawed at his soul, whispering he had passively let the beautiful woman walk to her death, the woman who had saved their lives. Constantine was possessed by an overpowering urge to see her again, to protect her where he had failed the first time.

He couldn't let her participate in a suicide attack against the Capitol. He needed to be certain that the rebels' plan was foolproof. He knew the human mind could convince itself of many things when people held on to passionate dreams, including an impossible victory. He couldn't bear to watch her leave a second time, this time to a certain death.

Garnet stopped abruptly when they'd reached a long corridor with numbered doors. "Number fourteen. If she wants to be alone, go to room thirty one, there will be people to keep you company."

"Thank you, Sir."

The one-eyed rebel gave him a brief salute and left.

Constantine felt his breath catch when those soulful blue eyes met his. He could finally properly see her and realized his imagination had been lacking. Her alabaster skin of the purest white would put portraits to shame, and small lines of trial gave her face more character than he had ever seen in a woman without tainting he innocence. He lowered his gaze before it became inappropriate. Teal's small room was more orderly than any he had ever seen. It felt sterile, a mask. It couldn't be healthy. Why would such a woman feel the need to prove anything?

"Constantine Aquila, and I am not from here."

Teal cocked her head sideways, her voice a chiming whisper. "Why mention it? We are all from different places."

"You do not have a hair out of place. Where I come from, it is no shame to show grief."

A small broken laugh left Teal's lips, which soon dissolved into choked sobs.

"We lose people often. We are expected not to burden others with our grief. There is always someone to grieve for."

Disappointment and anger at the rebels surged through Constantine. They would ask her to waste what tattered remains of emotional strength subsisted in her wounded soul to protect their own sensibilities? He forced it not to show, this was no place to indulge in ire. Teal needed him calm.

"I understand the community imperative. I also believe a woman should cry when she loses her husband." A wan smile graced Constantine's lips. "I have energy to spare, and I have been useless enough yesterday." He put a light hand on her frail arm. "It would make me happy to see you cry."

Teal laughed again, warming Constantine's whole being. His hold tightened gently. Behind that brave mask, Teal hid simmering feelings that begged to be released. The aristocratic boy waited, wishing she would trust him just enough to let go of her misguided display of strength.

A ghost of a smile graced his lips as her beautiful eyes misted with tears. "You know how to speak to women," she said, her tone lightly teasing despite the thick sorrow choking her words.

She pressed her face against his shoulder as she began crying. Constantine gently cradled her to stop her shaking. It seemed like hours before she managed to stop, but the young man was disappointed when she pulled away.

She wiped her eyes, her lips gifting him with the most touching smile he had ever seen. "How was growing up in a rich, peaceful District like?"

Constantine showed no surprise at the question. He didn't presume to tell someone how to deal with their loss. It suited him perfectly to talk about himself rather than listen to her praise Nexus.

"Peaceful is a matter of perspective," he began, struggling not to stare too intently as he drank in her every reaction.

He absently thanked Cereus for having given him impressive tales to tell a rebel. He doubted she would have been impressed by his mother teaching him how to manage peacekeeper security, but blackmailing Capitol appointed judges to get innocent people out of jail was suitably moral and challenging to both distract her and give her a flattering opinion of him. He was proud of his orator skills and was thrilled to make her smile.

He was barely paying attention to his surroundings as he was later led to a small room with a bunk bed.

"The girls are in the room next to yours. The washrooms are at the end of the corridor," Garnet curtly said. "Have a good night. You will be given a new stock of supplies in the morning."

Fife and Mags were in his room before he'd finished his 'meal'. He vowed never to eat nuts again if he ever returned to One. He'd never considered sustaining himself such a depressing chore before. He feared he might develop an allergy, so repulsed as he was becoming by the lack of variety in his diet.

"So?" Mags said, here green eyes swimming with concern.

"We talked," he said, disinclined to say more. They would pry and prod, pretending to know better, or that it was not his place. Teal's face had regained a hint of color when he had left, and that was all that mattered.

"We did figure you weren't having sex."

Constantine glared at Fife, not dignifying her crude comment with a reply.

"Oh, why the mystery?" Mags said with a sigh. Her eyes then narrowed."Besides, Lila is quite alright, she's just very shaken by this whole situation, understandably so. If you're being distant because it's the Games, fine, but please respect that she truly wants what is best for Panem."

Constantine couldn't fathom why they wasted time on that girl. He had found her unremarkable and irritating in the Capitol and her recent judgmental attitude had hardly affected his opinion. If her ideals were truly so dear to her, Lila should commit suicide instead of demanding that the rebels murder her and live with the guilt. There were a thousand more interesting things to talk about.

"Before you share with us what Sylvan told you, what has Fife to say about the sewers and Fix?"

"Fix is great, very talkative, energetic and funny. We saw huge rooms with amazing systems to pump and filter water and the storage rooms. They're bigger than my street. There are blankets and masks for millions, as if that's the first thing that had been stored. It's crazy. Saw loads of fun stuff."

"How _great_ is Fix?" Constantine said with a small smile. Considering how ill at ease their little liar seemed with casual banter, he doubted she had ever kissed a man. His smile softened. Fife was such a child in some regards.

A merry chuckle escaped Fife's lips. "He has a _boy_friend, Constantine."

Constantine's eyebrows flew upwards in shock. He repressed a sigh. Was it just bad statistics or was there something in the air that made the men here dislike women? Teal's lovely figure hadn't strayed from his mind. He winced at the thought of Chase ogling him.

"The Capitol hunts those people down," he then said. "One of Cereus' relatives was incarcerated three years ago under a flimsy pretext. He was hardly the only one."

"I'd never noticed the Capitol monitored sexual preferences," Mags said with a frown, "I'm truly sorry for his loss."

Constantine gave her a smug smile. "Oh the bugger's fine. We blackmailed the judge. Desiré is a respectable man with a respectable job. I don't see why the Capitol is obsessed with them."

There were many odder, more dangerous and unwholesome traits in some citizens, yet peacekeepers let society deal with those, often hardly bothering with laws. Petty theft earned one ten lashes but murder of the poor was seldom investigated.

"Because homosexuality is the emblem of sex for the couple's sake, not procreation, so it's a freedom, like the banned festivals use to be, not something society needs to function. The Capitol can weed it out, so they do so. It gives them an excuse to pry in people's private lives and keeps people scared, since it's hard to disprove an accusation," Fife said.

Constantine arched his eyebrows, impressed by her reasoning. A foul taste entered his mouth as the whole perversity of what she had said sunk in. They were led by vermin. Mags was right. Rebellion wasn't an ambitious choice, it was a necessity. Already the Capitol insidiously tampered with their minds, decreeing what teachers could teach and what people could say in public without fear. They colored the past to their tastes and draped the present in shadows, denying citizens the truth. They had to be stopped before their hold on the Districts tightened further. They had to fall so that Teal could see District One and freely bask in the sunlight without fearing for her life. His face softened at the thought of those soft lips breaking in an awed smile.

"What did Sylvan tell you," he then asked. "How did they separate from the Citadel and what have they been doing?"

Mags smiled. First hand accounts of rebel action had ostensibly heightened her spirits. Constantine narrowed his eyes in keen attention, hoping Sylvan had let slip clues of his plans. He would not let Death claim the woman he had vowed to protect.

* * *

**AN: To my dear readers, Constantine is obviously biased about Teal and I'm very curious about how I conveyed his new obsession with her. Feedback here would be invaluable. I'm not very confident about my ability at portraying deep emotions.  
**


	15. Crash

**Thanks for the reviews. It's nice to have you back Well of Wishes.^^  
**

* * *

**Mags' POV**

Sleeping in a comfortable bed had been glorious. Undisturbed, they had shamefully overslept. It was past eleven when she and Fife joined Constantine.

"Good morning."

"Good morning, ladies."

He was lying clothed on his mattress, a pensive expression on his face as he gazed at the ceiling. Mags wondered how long he had been lying there and what was occupying his mind.

"Nice eight in training," Fife said, "Jason and Mirabelle looked like they would burst from envy. I wonder if someone will ever get a over a nine."

Mags dearly hoped that, despite the new training centers, few would ever surpass Vicuña at the gruesome art of killing, especially people who threw their lives away, volunteering in the name of a warped ambition.

Constantine smirked. He straightened. "A seven and a five. Reasonable scores for outliers."

Mags mock glared at him. She was beginning to have a good overview of the five days she had spent in the Capitol - they had mostly consisted of wary observation- but lacked many details still. Her final training session remained a blur. But with so many more memories of the Capitol, she was reverting to her Games mindset and found herself looking at her companions in a different light, one heavily tainted with suspicion. They made a good team, but their days were numbered and Mags would soon see them die. She had to get detached, and fast.

Fife sat at the edge of the bed. "No talent shows here, so we just chat until they give us something? How long before their big move anyway? Days? A week?"

"I promised Teal that I would visit again," Constantine said. There was something in his tone and the way he clenched his hands that went beyond simple concern.

A horrible suspicion entered Mags' mind. She'd assumed he'd been more emotional since their escape from the Scavengers' den because of their close brush with death, but it also coincided with the moment they'd met Teal.

"Constantine, are you in love with her?" Mags said, hoping she was imagining things. Surely he was more rational than that. Yet she knew more than one person prone to instantaneous and inexplicable crushes. But not when their lives were at stake, not like this.

Fife let loose an incredulous breath. "She's in her mid-twenties, freshly widowed and about to march on the Capitol, or whatever they have planned. You've barely met her and-" Fife dropped her arms in frustration- "Do you have a thing for women you can't have? You can't bring her back to One."

"Mags doesn't need me and you, I'd cage, Fife."

Mags rolled her eyes. She'd heard that one before. She'd kissed a few boys and received her share of attention but she had never dated. Maybe one day she should just trip and crash at a boy's feet, maybe then she wouldn't be so intimidating. She was independent and sure of herself, but that didn't have to mean she didn't need anyone. Dating considerations aside, she was much more concerned by the absence of denial. Constantine couldn't possibly be serious.

Fife snorted, a small smile on her lips. "I was not making a passive-aggressive request for obscure compliments, Constantine. Who were the last women you fell in love with?"

Mags frowned. What point was Fife trying to make?

"They are not important. I realize now my feelings were superficial."

Fife arched an eyebrow. "You weren't as obsessed with them as you are now with Teal?"

The aristocratic boy's diffident expression said it all. Mags forced her jaw to stay shut. This wasn't the first time? _Seriously?_

"Did they eventually fall for you? How did it end?"

Mags put a restraining hand on Fife's shoulder. "What are you getting at?"

"Tabor, my brother, is like that. He meets a girl, falls desperately in love with her, spends all his aces until she succumbs - which they mostly do because it's rare to find a handsome guy who lives and breathes for you - and then dates her for less than a season. He predictably falls out of love and finds a new obsession. He's genuine from beginning to end, but it's a destructive love. The difference is that he goes after single girls his age, doesn't go beyond kissing, and he's _fourteen_."

"I am not your brother," Constantine said, his voice trembling with rage, "I would never take advantage of her."

"Of course you won't and of course you aren't," Fife said with a soothing smile, "you're an adult and more charming. Have you ever been told no? Who was your most impressive conquest?"

Fife seemed to have given up moralization for sheer curiosity. Mags still couldn't believe her ears. With everything happening he was now concerned about a woman returning his affections?

Constantine flashed her a crooked, somewhat apologetic, smile. "Bijou was married, faithful by principle, but highly neglected."

Mags winced. _Married. _She should have predicted he'd be the kind of man prone to grand passions. What else could motivate him enough to reach out from behind his general disappointment at the human species? His infatuated mind doubtless transformed a woman into the embodiment of perfection and would give him no rest until he settled in a relationship. Predictably he'd discover the one he believed to love so dearly was _normal _and lose his interest. Brilliant. Just _brilliant._

"How happy was she when she realized she'd risked her marriage for a younger man who soon fell out of love?" Mags said, hoping he'd realize on his own that this could not end well, even for Teal.

"She demanded a divorce when she realized she would never be content with her husband again and I take pains to avoid her. I did not ever wish to hurt her. There were simply no feelings left."

He sounded both unremorseful and disinterested, as if he was humoring them out of respect. It was obvious there was only one woman on his mind now.

Mags was appalled. She debated warning Teal. Constantine was young enough that he couldn't have had dozens of 'conquests' and maybe he'd matured over time, but she couldn't let him take advantage of an emotionally vulnerable woman, no matter how genuine he was. She nevertheless also doubted that Teal would fall into his arms and maybe Constantine could help her through her grief without becoming obnoxious.

She caught herself. She was still thinking as if they were not in the Games. It had gone on long enough.

"Constantine," she said, her voice graver the other two had ever heard it, "would you be prepared to die to give Teal a future? We still can choose what to do here and how to die. Would it have more meaning than your life?"

Fife gasped. She paled, stumbling as if she would faint. Mags tensely wondered if she was being disgustingly manipulative or actually fair to Constantine. Dying for what you retained paramount, even if she felt that his sudden obsession with Teal was unhealthy, was better than living a life of regret in chains, and the rebellion needed people ready to give their lives.

"One victor," Constantine repeated, his eyes going from her to Fife. A small smile graced his lips. "I would rather die a heroic death than live a mediocre life. If I must, I will not let the occasion pass."

"You are an arrogant man with little to no empathy," Fife said, her eyes wide, as if she couldn't process they were having this conversation, "but a noble one and...-" her voice dropped to the barest whisper -"I'll miss you, damn it."

Mags knew Fife would never give away her own life. She swallowed painfully, deciding to deal with it later. After all, if she found a way to do more good by giving her life for the rebellion, here, with Sylvan, than by the hypothetical training teenagers in Four, she would be the lowest of hypocrites if she let that chance pass.

She said so.

Fife steadied herself on the wall, still as pale as death. "You two are crazy. A... _good_ crazy in this case... I guess we need more people like you in a fight." Fife tried to smile but it came out as a grimace. "I'm sorry, I just can't feel that way."

"It's alright, you're hardly a terrible person," Mags said, putting a compassionate hand on her shoulder.

There were much worse things than a successful rebellion and Fife telling stories about her to Esperanza.

A rumbling sound put an end to their conversation. A jolt of fear caused Mags to straighten and strain her ears.

"The walls are closing down completely," she said, stepping out of the room, "something is happening."

The three broke into a run. Sylvan intercepted them on their way to the bunker entrance, an intense but unreadable expression on his features.

"Follow me, now."

"What's happening, Lieutenant?" Constantine asked stiffly, his hand on the handle of his sword.

"Atli's gone bonkers. He used Will to crash a hovercraft. What fools the Cestoda make! But it might give us information on their motives."

_Crash a hovercraft? Over them?_

"We've got _how many_ tons of metal about to crash on the sewers?" Fife whimpered, voicing Mags' exact thoughts.

"Bonkers," the muscled man repeated, "Not that he was right in the head before. Vengeance must have clouded their minds. They probably still think you're spies or whatnot."

Sylvan led them to a wide room where Lila was already waiting. Flat screens covered the walls. They were almost all on, showing camera readings of the tunnels and the outside. There was no sound and the imaging was rather poor, but what was surprising was that the cameras moved.

The cameras _had wings_? Mags stared in amazement.

"Birdies… She told us about them, the scavenger girl," Fife said, a tight smile on her lips. "Cool."

Camera-robots camouflaged as birds? Cameras that could fly? What had happened to signals not getting through thick rock and the scramblers?Electronics were so damn confusing! Maybe those had been the things watching them in the ruins. Mags' eyes fastened on the screen numbered two.

Over seventy feet above the ground, a hovercraft lurched. It seemed trapped in an invisible net and lost altitude with every passing second. The two pilots were shouting in the microphone, their terror clear despite the blurry image. The other three passengers were scrambling for crash suits. Will was among them, alive. His broad frame was unmistakable. Mags ground her teeth together, her chin buried behind her knees on her chair. _Not alive for long_. How had he gotten on there? Mags tensed as she saw the hovercraft lurch and drop over four feet. The hovercrystals' lights had almost petered out.

"Chase sends birdies to sniff out moving steel. He makes the jets sing and the snoops go still," Fife muttered, reciting the scavenger girl's words.

They had been supposed to get from those obscure words that Chase had a way to shut down a flying hovercraft and make it crash? "In hindsight it was glaringly obvious. How could we possibly have missed it?" Mags said, sarcasm lacing her voice as her eyes stayed glued on the screen.

She took a sharp intake of breath. The hovercraft lost its grip on the air and plummeted down. The camera turned and moved away at full speed.

The noise was deafening. Dust covered half the screens. The second screen flashed and suddenly turned black.

Sylvan cursed. "Those robots are a hefty pain to build." He clasped his hands together, his anger giving way to sorrow."Poor lad..."

Mags shut her eyes. Dulled crashing and collapsing noises could be heard everywhere above them. Half a minute later, they were getting louder. Explosions reached their ears despite the many layers of stone. Fire in the ruins, fueled no doubt by the pools of chemicals. Mags shivered at the thought of being trapped in the bunker. She rubbed her eyebrows as a dull pain shot through her head.

"A remapping of the tunnels might also be in order," Fife said, wringing her hands in distress. Her voice dropped to a nervous whisper. "I think the Scavenger problem has been dealt with."

Her eyes were wide in horror, in contrast with the vengeful satisfaction radiating from Constantine.

Mags couldn't find it in her to feel happy. The Scavengers had been rebels, frighteningly misguided ones, but still people who had fought until the very end to retain their freedom, and who should have had access to healthcare and psychological support. She blinked, realizing one could say the very same thing of Capitol citizens, brought up not to see the suffering they caused. She pushed such thoughts aside. Capitol citizen has access to all the information they wanted if they just bothered to open their eyes.

"Excuse me, Sylvan, but _what_ happened? Lila said, her lips still parted in shock. "What's all this about snoops and jets? What was the first noise?"

Sylvan cracked his knuckles and squared his shoulders but failed to conceal his wariness. "Atli got the Capitol's attention. He must have left Will outside alone and waited for him to get picked up. Before the hovercraft left, the Scavengers activated the scrambler. I'm no specialist, but the scrambler is used to protect the sewers from Capitol electronic signals, to avoid them getting any information if they send in robots or use radars. Our birds were built at the same time as the scrambler, so they're not affected by it. The scrambler can also be used to focus a scrambling beam on a small area. Anyway, it messed up the hovercraft's control system. That's why the thing crashed." Sylvan brought a large hand to his head, as if he still couldn't believe this had happened. "The first noise had to have been Atli collapsing the walls that would have interfered with the scrambling beam, since they didn't bring the scrambler to the surface. They must have used all their supply of dynamite. They're completely mad."

The tributes were silent as they digested the information. Mags paled at the thought that the Scavengers had had dynamite. If the fire Delphin's group had lit had accidentally reached the stash...

A sharp knock resounded on the door. "Lieutenant, Chickaree is here, alone."

Mags turned in surprise, but after Teal's revelations she wondered if Chickaree wasn't also the official emissary between the two rebel groups. She was inexplicably glad to see the woman. Chickaree's guilty expression as they had left the Citadel had made Mags believe that lots of things had been left unsaid.

Sylvan stood up abruptly. He shrugged at the four, as if to say _What do I know?_

"Come in," he said.

"Hello, fair lady," he greeted, as if there was some private joke on. Chickaree bowed her head. "Sylvan."

"Hey, we missed you! We figured grenades were cheap so we chucked a hovercraft on Atli," Fife said with a broad fake smile.

Chickaree snorted. She didn't meet their eyes. "A _slight_ overkill. The last of the scramblers are fried, now the Cestoda can send radars. If they realize this, they'll succeed in mapping the bunker's outside. That's _not good_."

"Why in heaven did the Scavengers have the only scramblers?" Mags said, horrified. Such a gross oversight shouldn't have been possible.

"Because scramblers don't work from inside the Citadel? Too deep?" Fife guessed. She then burst out laughing. "Excuse me," she gasped, blushing. She walked to a corner of the room where she dissolved into gales of nervous laughter.

Mags shook her head, wondering what her twisted mind found so amusing.

"You hate each other, yet you're all so inter-dependent," Constantine said, shaking his head. "It's absurd."

Mags doubted they were dependent by choice or that Sylvan actually hated Chickaree. They didn't behave like enemies.

She shared a weighted look with Lila. "What now? You have to hurry," Mags said.

"May I have a chance to speak, Wanderlings?" Chickaree said, her arms crossed in annoyance.

"Your niece thinks Hunter is an asshole who strings you along, just saying," Fife said from the other side of the room. "Oh and her husband Nexus was murdered two days ago by Atli's men. Just so you have news of your family," she added, her tone cold and biting.

Chickaree stumbled as if struck. All color had drained from her face. She stared at Fife, horror and shock etched on her features.

"What was that for?" Lila whispered to a similarly appalled Mags.

"I think Fife resents Chickaree and the others for what they made us, and especially her, do more than she lets on," she answered carefully. She hoped the peacekeeper's battered face would one day fade from her memory but she agreed wholeheartedly with Lila. That had been cruel. Fife should have discussed this with them earlier instead of letting anger and guilt poison her.

"Order!" Sylvan said, a hard ring to his voice. "Chickaree?"

The woman straightened her shawl and took a shaky calming breath. "We can count on -" she glanced at the tributes - " the amount I mentioned last time. I will call an alert. The Council won't be able to stall or stop us. The names Wickers and Grey still command great respect. They'll come if I tell them it's the last chance they may have before they get too old to hit a target. It's a real battle, not a skirmish. They'll come."

_Wait a sec. Chickaree was the one who wanted the Citadel to fight? What else had they missed?  
_

"Don't you want to see Teal?" Constantine said, his disapproval evident.

Mags glowered. Chickaree was old enough to make her own decisions. This was emotional bullying. "How about a relevant question, say, why did you ask us to bomb Atli's den in the first place if he was useful after all?"

"The scrambler is away from the dwellings and doesn't need much maintenance. Atli wasn't useful. The majority of the Council wanted him gone and the Capitol has already decreed you three would have a very short lifespan. Atli would have killed us on sight. You had a chance to get close," Chickaree said with a tight smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You were convenient," she added, looking suddenly exhausted.

This was war. Mags didn't argue further even if they could have debated this at length. The world wasn't fair but that didn't make the rebels evil.

"Do we stay here and wait for your return?" Lila said.

Chickaree turned to her, her gray eyes hard and alert. "We need to check which sewer paths are still intact, at least to know what exits can be used. You can help."

"I'm in," Fife said, raising her hand like an eager student.

"We shouldn't leave here," Lila said with a glare, "we can't risk it. They have enough people for the job."

"But the Capitol won't bomb the sewers further if our trackers signal that we're in them. They want us. It will buy us time and I doubt they'll be able to do much in the next two hours, too much dust and debris," Fife quickly replied, already half-way to the door.

Mags nodded. She was just as desperate to do something useful. "We'll be careful. Were there people outside?"

"No, the last came back in last night," Sylvan said, his voice thick with relief. "Just some birds checking the ladders of the fifth and sixth."

"Chickaree, may I please have a word?" Fife said after a pause, an odd expression on her face.

The woman looked all but inclined to. She grudgingly walked up to the brunette.

Mags grabbed Constantine's wrist before he could attempt to go eavesdrop.

"You have three hours," Sylvan said, "we'll give you some masks. Careful, they only protect from airborne fumes, not from sprayed acid. We'll give you protective coats too. You want to go with them, Lila?"

"I'd rather stay with people who wouldn't mind talking about how things were, before the rebellion, in the other districts," the girl said, shooting Mags an apologetic look.

Mags nodded, signaling it was fine. She was astonished that Lila could stand it, knowing nothing, doing nothing. Maybe she was the bravest of them all.

"Sure, lass. Let's move." He turned to the man who'd knocked. "Randall, do what Chickaree says, within reason."

Fife was back by their side in minutes, a pensive cast to her features.

"So?" Mags said.

"I apologized," Fife said, not meeting her gaze. "I shouldn't have said that. I have never asked anyone to kill, but getting all wound up because someone manipulates me to do what they think is right…" She flashed Mags a weak smile. "I'd have to start hating myself... and I doubt that grand idea was hers in the first place now. Or that she even approves. She seems much too guilty and ill at ease. Something is bothering her, and it's bigger than any of us."

Mags frowned. Fife had proven to be a good judge of character before. Who was responsible then? She then let a small smile grace her lips, at least one of her companions was not too conceited to recognize their mistakes.

"I'm proud of you," she said.

Fife chuckled dryly. "Yeah yeah, be proud of me when the three of us survive the Games,"

Mags repressed a glare. It was futile to think like that. She found herself thinking about Lila and the fact she hadn't considered to let her win, not once. She respected Lila's profound rebel streak but knew a victor from Eleven would be all but physically imprisoned by the Capitol. Yet she still felt guilty. Mags had been impressed by the way Lila had escaped from Atli. Lila had claimed to Chase that she had spotted peacekeepers lying in wait in the sewers. Since Lila had been so adamant at warning what she thought to be poor but genuine rebels that the tributes were dangerous, the Scavengers had believed her brilliant lie. Of course, Lila was also the reason the Scavengers had gone looking for the train wreck so quickly...

Mags hadn't told Lila about the eaten bodies and hoped it would never come up. She couldn't find it in her to blame the girl.

Mags opened her mouth as a suspicious thought entered her mind. "How did they_ use Will?_" she said, loud enough for Sylvan to hear. "They put him outside and the hovercraft just came for him?"

"Seems like it. The Capitol probably figured he'd seen enough of this place."

Mags wasn't reassured in the slightest. She was missing something. Something big. She feared they had underestimated the Capitol, after all the team of gamemakers had prepared this for months.

She winced. Her headache had gone as quickly as it had started, but new memories were surfacing again, demanding her attention.

_"She's wants us to believe that rope thing works as a fishhook?"_

_Mags kept her eyes down, hiding her anger. They could at least address her directly, although after ten minutes of showing her best snares, she had low expectations. They made her dismissive escort seem like the embodiment of manners. She walked up to one of the heavy straw dummies, planted her makeshift hook in its eye and pointedly lifted it off the ground. The line held.  
_

_The gamemakers just stared at her. A few nodded with appraising expressions.  
_

_"Chuck it over, Four, I want to see how it works."  
_

_"Don't waste our time, Clodia."  
_

_"Chuck it!"  
_

_Mags did, hoping the woman would stab her hand with it.  
_

_"Now show us weapons," a man said.  
_

_It was time to put her nine months of training to use. The lances were all on the target, although some of her throws were too weak for the lance to stick, and her thrusts didn't look ridiculous. If the gamemakers weren't convinced, the corpses in the arena would be tragically so. Mags' face darkened at the thought. She hoped she could leave as many kills as possible to others._

_"Alright, clean up for the next tribute. Put the snares you can't undo in less than a minute in that box."  
_

_Mags strained her ears as she undid her snares. The room's acoustics were excellent. She doubted that the whispering gamemakers realized how much.  
_

_"Won't be a lot of fishing done, you think... bad camera angle."  
_

_"Only if the tribute is alone. But what if...no technical information..."  
_

_"...rely too much on records... die underground?"  
_

_"...best chance..."  
_

_"...rebel tributes... will keep them alive... without sound can't..."  
_

_"It's stupid to favor the rebellious ones."  
_

_"Why don't you go tell the President how you feel, Clodia? And keep your voice down."  
_

_"...too many players... choices...interventions limited... master the delays."  
_

_"Four, hurry up!"  
_

_Mags stacked the lances on the rack before curtly taking her leave. Her brain was whirling, trying to memorize everything she'd overheard.  
_

* * *

"I hate that," she venomously said, drawing surprised glances from the other two. "Just enough information to know I'm missing things."_  
_

"Your escort blabbed something?" Fife said.

"Gamemakers. They had issues about favoring rebellious tributes and probably can't get sound records. Nothing new except about camera angles being bad only if the tribute is alone. I _think_ that's what they said... And they don't seem convinced everything will work out but the whole was done on President Achlys' orders so they had to comply."

She hoped it would make sense before it was too late. Why would a tribute being alone change things? Did they need to triangulate somehow? The part about favoring rebellious tributes was only a small relief. She doubted her and the Capitol put the same meaning behind the word _favor_.

"The rebels checked for electronic devices in our body and clothes and we visually checked too. A concealed camera in the folds of our clothes would be useless," Constantine pointed out.

Of course, and they already knew that. But they obviously hadn't thought of everything.

* * *

**Trivia: Names (2)_  
_**

**Teal: **duck-like bird. symbolism: person of many resources.

**Sylvan: **'of the forest'**  
**

**Quark (Fix): **elemental particle. Very useful in nuclear physics.

**Wickers (Sylvan's Captain): **from wicker, a hard woven fiber (usually plant) formed into a rigid material, mostly used for baskets or furniture. Guess what District he's from.^^

**Achlys (the President):** Greek mythology, the eternal night or mist of death. The first created being, before even Chaos._  
_

Other tributes

**Styx**: a river of the ancient Greek mythological hell. Because District Two likes antique ominous names.^^

**Kopis**: Greek curved short sword.

**Jason**: Greek mythology, a hero.

**Delphin**: dolphin (just in case people hadn't seen it ;D)

**Robin:** early-rising cheerful bird

**Will Pulaski:** Will as in willpower (Hope's a name, Will doesn't have to be for William.^^) and he's of polish decent. Or *cough* I'm just a Star Trek TNG fan and got inspired. Your pick xD.

**Lila**: (arabic) dark beauty. And it means Lilac in many languages, so it's also a flower name.

**Keane**: Irish name that means 'fighter' 'sharp' and 'bold'. There's a nice bit of history/legend attached (High King Brian 'Boru' and his warrior clan).

_Yes, I have a lot of fun coming up with names. xD_

* * *

**Please review and make my day^^. **

**Next chapter: how the Capitol has been monitoring them. And some dogs.  
**


	16. Surface

It had seemed like a good idea before, but now, stranded on the fifth level, tons of rubble covering the ladder they had taken mere minutes before and whirls of dust reducing vision to almost nil, Mags wondered why they hadn't stayed in the bunker. Her ears were still ringing from the noise the corridor had made upon collapsing. Every time she lifted her eyes, the threatening cracks in the ceiling seemed wider. She feared they had crossed the line between brave and foolish. A poisonous river of suspicious-looking substances bubbled down the now too small canals, spraying sizzling liquid dangerously close to their legs.

"The higher levels have overflowed. The crash caused the chemicals to mix," Fife said, eyeing them hopefully for a solution. Her voice came out as a wheeze. She looked like a giant insect with her black eyes made huge by mask's transparent lenses.

"The sewers were built after the bunker. So the bunker must have an exit of its own. We must find a way back down. We can report the way is shut. We have only two other downwards ladders to check anyway," Mags said, afraid they would only find more shut ways. Their three hours were almost up.

They weren't very far from where the hovercraft had crashed, but they weren't right underneath either and this was one of the sturdiest sectors of the sewers. Yet it looked like a war zone. The hovercraft shouldn't have caused that much destruction. What had they stored in it, dynamite? She eyed the heap of rocks critically. She doubted that the Capitol could fool two pilots into sacrificing themselves like that.

"There have to be reinforced emergency pipes to get cameras down, at the very least for inspection in case of a collapse. We might get a message through," she said.

Fife and Constantine looked at a loss. "Wait…pipes?" Fife said after a pause. She turned their back on them before turning back just as suddenly and bursting into gales of laughter.

Incredulous, Mags watched her stumble and fall to the ground, clutching her sides. What was there to laugh about?

"I wanted to say 'turn around so none of us can see the others' faces' but," Fife gestured at the masks, "the Capitol just got screwed over." She took a deep sobering breath. "You told us that they have no sound, but they have video and the angle depends on the number of tributes, Mags." Hostile undertones gave a freezing edge to Fife's voice. "We all had horrible headaches at Atli's and my eyes hurt again a few minutes after the hovercraft had crashed, did yours?"

Mags felt the sudden urge to pound her head on the wall. Facts she had dismissed clicked into place. The Capitol had tampered with their brains, but not just their memories. _They_ were the cameras. "Yes, just like our trackers also ached when we were so close to the scrambler and -"

She broke off and chuckled at Fife's puppy-eyed look. That girl could be such a diva. "Fine, show off, Fife."

Fife's eyes crinkled. She theatrically cleared her throat. "We have cameras behind our eyes or something like it. As soon as the scrambler got crushed, every last image recorded by whatever device they put in our brain was sent to the Capitol. The city's not so far, they just need to have something to boost the signals in those emergency pipes to get it to the surface. The tracker somehow wasn't scrambled since they sent sponsors and -"

"The heat detectors cannot be scrambled or Sylvan would not care about their existence," Constantine cut in.

Mags covered her face with her gloved hands_. How could she have missed that! _No wonder the Capitol had managed to send supplies. They had a map of trackers to guide any robot. And Chickaree had given the three of them _a map. _Mags felt even more stupid. If the maps had been a great secret, they would not have gotten any. The rebels were in an even more precarious situation than Mags had thought.

"So maybe the tracker can communicate with the heat detectors and that's how they knew where we were," she guessed. After all the Capitol had had a long time to prepare.

She ground her teeth in frustration, twisting her coat with her gloved fingers. Only those who researched weather forecasting had advanced physics and mathematical training in Four. The three of them had only the vaguest clue of what they were dealing with. Tension and stress sucked energy out of her muscles even as they did nothing. It was like walking over a precipice on a narrow rail-less bridge. She was constantly on edge, never having a moment to truly relax.

"I'm not so sure how they knew when we figured out that we had lost our memories," Fife said, "but I am sure they have some software that can read lips. They just need two tributes facing each other to 'listen in' to any conversation. But the records will have no sound, meaning that it's much easier for the commentators to give the images whatever meaning they want. I'm sure the recaps will be carefully engineered."

Of course. The Capitol will have them say whatever they want.

"So they now do have a live feed and we have cameras in our eyes. _So does Lila_," Constantine said. The mask failed to alter the scorching fury in his voice. "They may be littering the sewers with listening devices as we speak. How are we even certain there are no devices in our ears? I know of a deaf Capitol citizen, so they cannot cure all ailments, but do they truly have no such technology?"

"The Gamemakers said no sound. We have to believe that," Mags said, hoping her memory hadn't tricked her.

She cracked her knuckles. The Capitol's motives made much more sense now. A false live broadcast of the death of the agonizing rebellion to quell any stubborn whispers of defiance. The final proof that any attempt to rebel was futile, that the districts were hopelessly over-matched. These Games had been designed as a weapon against dissenters.

Mags knew what they had to do. She would concern herself with the Capitol having heard her rebellious opinions later.

"We keep the masks on and we go to the surface, now, before they finish seeing what we've been doing in the last days. They know that there won't be any rebels on the surface and the Capitol is less than an hour away by hovercraft."

"But they'll see us coming, Mags," Fife said, looking at her quizzically, "do we pretend to flee or something?"

"You really think the Capitol will miss the occasion to send their men in disguised as Scavengers? They want the Districts to believe that no rebellion could ever succeed. What better than to show that their last hopes amongst the rebels are insane?"

Mags' vibrant voice filled the corridors, like a bitter herald of dark times. It was there, caressing the tips of her fingers, the power the men and women of the Capitol had abandoned all virtue for. One insidious word, one deceiving broadcast, and a million minds would be shaped by their lies. They could play people like chess pieces, push them to suit their stone-hearted fancies and watch the drama they were so starved for unfold.

"They will twist the images they recorded through our eyes, using them as proof that for every man like Sylvan a thousand Scavengers prowled in the depths, that people like Chickaree trained them as dogs to eat innocent tributes. They will prove that rebels are naught but vile beasts or tragically naive fools. They will not stop until even the thought of rebellion is erased from every single citizen's mind."

"That would have sounded even more ominous without that horrid mask," Fife said. Her hushed voice went from intimidated to teasing. "And Constantine won't be able to charmingly flip his hair as his grenades sail through the air, such a pity!"

Mags gaped, physically stunned by Fife's attempt to break the oppressive silence. It was as if her brain warred with itself. One part was desperate to latch on anything futile, anything lighthearted, the other wanted to scream at Fife not to waste her time, to focus on the very real threats. A ghost of a smile flitted over her lips upon seeing the look of supreme contempt Constantine was giving the unabashed and grinning girl from Nine.

"Grow up, Fife," Constantine said.

Mags grabbed Fife's shoulder as the girl's words suddenly registered. "What grenades?"

"Why, Mags, the ones I put in my bag before we left," Fife said innocently, "telling you must have slipped my mind. I'd be happy to share the load now that you mention it. They're pretty heavy."

"Perfect, you will carry the ammunition while we accomplish the serious tasks," Constantine said, his lips twitching.

Mags rolled her eyes at the two of them, inwardly warmed by their bickering. It gave her hope that, somehow, things could get back to normal after this. She couldn't believe Fife had stolen the grenades back. Her whole life Mags had been rather flippant about talks of bombing the Capitol. It had seemed self-evident, the right thing to do. But now... would she still kill Capitol citizens who had come here on orders? People who would be replaced instantly, leaving Panem the same except for the mourning families of the dead? She told herself that she had to. Even if it wasn't ideal justice, it had to be done. Except she doubted Capitolites would come themselves. They always had someone to do their dirty work for them. Fife caught her shaking her head.

"Come on, Mags, tell me how brilliant I am. I know you're thinking it."

"Grow up, Fife," Mags shot back, glad the mask concealed her small smile. The fact the grenades could come useful should be enough to overpower any hint of amusement, yet Mags felt like tickling Fife just to see her lose some of that damned self-control and squirm a bit. Prolonged stress was turning Mags into the ten year old she had never had a chance to be. She didn't know whether to giggle or despair. The fact that she even considered giggling wasn't a good sign.

"We're not here to hang around, let's move," she said.

They walked in companionable silence in the gloom, reaching the fourth level without much difficulty. The three froze as an odd whirling sound reached their ears. A shadow the size of a large lizard scurried across the floor. Something mechanical. Constantine was faster.

He cursed in pain as his foot collided violently with the shape. Sound of breaking metal resonated in the wide corridor as what had been a robot crashed against the hard wall. The four-legged machine gave a few feeble twitches before growing still.

Mags grabbed a rock to crush it completely in case it was equipped with listening devices. From up close, it looked like a small lithe dog with hand-like paws. It could probably go up and down the ladders.

"Kicking puppies is bad, Constantine," Fife quipped as the boy awkwardly massaged his aching limb.

Without a word, Constantine grabbed Fife's shoulder to balance himself. She stumbled under the weight and hastily caught herself against the wall. "We must find a more efficient way to destroy them," Constantine said, "the Capitol would be foolish to send a single robot."

"I'm afraid robot-puppies can't be our priority. Some will get past us anyway. What I can do is make use of the ropes lying around," Mags said, realizing keeping a second snare in case they had to detain someone would also be a wise idea. She decided they could afford the time. "I'll need a quarter hour or so."

Fife shook Constantine off her before he made her lose her balance and stuck her tongue out at him. "Could we avoid the Scavengers this time, unless your plan involves them?" She said, her voice serious once more.

Mags looked around. Four of the five paths they could have taken were collapsed or looked too dangerous to travel. "Let's try, but I doubt we'll have much choice. It goes without saying that using a grenade here is suicide," she added as a precaution. They hadn't thought about that enough when heading for Atli's.

"Aww, spoilsport."

Mags slapped Fife lightly on the back of the head. No one had the right to be that sarcastic in places like this.

Two snares later, Mags stood up. Constantine had tested the remaining ropes and packed the sturdiest. He now was looking at a set of components that Fife had removed from the robot.

"Infiltrators," he said, "some luxury convoys use them as mobile security."

Mags crouched next to him. From up close, the things looked like spider-like machines the size of her palm. A robot carrying robots? It made sense if the smaller ones were more advanced but unable to cover a lot of ground. She swallowed, fear tightening her chest. They would never spot the smaller robots in the gloom, even with their powerful torchlights.

"That's good to know. From now on, we speak as if every word will be heard," she said.

"How do you do it?" Fife said after a few minutes of silence.

Mags turned to her. Worried by the wariness in the other's voice. "What?"

"I've been fooling around because it's the only way I know to forget that I'm under thirty feet of unstable stone, without any guarantee of getting out, and that the odds of us surviving until tomorrow aren't as high as I'd wish. We always end up looking for trouble instead of staying safe and… You two look fine."

Mags felt a pang of compassion for her companion. Fife's mild demeanor made it so very easy to forget that she was just a terrified girl who was more used to avoiding danger than facing it. Mags wasn't _fine_, not by a long shot. She was simply _keeping up_. It had always been about keeping up, about not becoming a burden. She struggled to find the right words.

"It's called _bravery_," Constantine said.

Mags glared at him. Ever since they had met Lila, she was finding him increasingly disagreeable. He had such a black and white vision of some things. "When in doubt, Constantine, kindness should be your first option."

"Doubt? I am unfamiliar with the concept," he said, a teasing glint in his brown eyes.

Fife affected a cough. Mags didn't trust the light in her eyes. The short girl was about to bring up Teal and Mags couldn't let her. There was teasing, and then there was antagonizing. The two had to find other outlets than each other.

"Fife, please don't. You're wiser than that."

Arms stubbornly crossed, Fife finally granted her point. "See that, Constantine? The consequence of your holier than thou attitude means Mags counts on me to be the mature one."

Constantine looked less than thrilled.

Mags repressed a groan. They got distracted so easily. "I have enough of your alpha issues. Cut it out!"

"It's easy for you," he replied, "you're the leader."

His voice was calm, almost amused. She wondered if for him this passive-aggressive behavior was the norm. She hadn't truly appreciated before how healthy her relationships with her friends were. Marlin and Dylana would never think to act like that. And why did Fife and Constantine have to establish a hierarchy between them? Was it just to kill time? To distract themselves?

"I have never used the word or pulled rank on you," Mags said. She dared them to complain. They had been quite happy to hand her the responsibility.

Fife laughed. "Since our combined IQs top one-eighty, you won't ever have to. You never let our goal out of your sight, you're the least self-absorbed of us three and nothing makes you give up. I'd be in the Capitol by now and Constantine would have attacked Chickaree and her group when they backed us into killing the peacekeeper. He'd be either a corpse or also in the Capitol."

"And you have a remarkable aptitude for making distasteful decisions," Constantine added. "You are adaptable but your morals are not. It is a rare quality, Mags Abalone."

A smile graced Mags' lips. She wasn't going to pretend she didn't like them following her lead, especially since it was truly out of respect for her abilities. She felt her annoyance with disappear and repressed another sigh. How quickly they won her over with sweet words.

Wry laughter filled the corridor. "Oh look, _stairs._"

Mags paled as her eyes followed Fife's pointed finger. The corridor looked like it had been mauled by a giant beast. She could see the sky above the large hole. Smoke screened the afternoon sun, but, even fifteen feet underground, Mags squinted to readjust to natural light. Wind rustled her coat, tearing chips from the earth and rock, its glum hisses piercing her ears.

"Constantine, we'll climb ahead and secure you with the rope. It's not negotiable," she said. She really wasn't prepared to mourn him yet, especially not for something as stupid as a cracked skull after a fall.

Constantine seemed torn between pride and logic. "You are certain not to need it?" He finally said.

Fife and Mags shared a look. This wouldn't be harder than climbing wet reefs or old warehouse roofs. "Yes."

The aristocratic boy did not protest further. Mags smiled, grateful for his quick compliance.

They began their ascent towards the surface, gloved fingers digging in the friable rocks. Years of poisoning had rendered the soft ground even softer. No wonder the burning hovercraft had caused so much damage: the first collapses had spilled reagents all over the place, fueling the inferno and causing new explosions which had weakened the fragile buildings and roads spared by the crash. A deadly chain reaction. It was not wind but the freed fluids which hissed and crackled all around them.

Her arms burning from strain, Mags finally pulled herself above the ground, her left foot slipping on her unstable grip. With Fife's help, she helped Constantine up, her eyes on the grim apocalyptic scenery before them.

Rivulets of a thousand colors and hues snaked through the landscape, exhaling wisps of gazes with heavy sighs that blurred the mountains all around the phantom city. The wide roads had been torn apart. Yellow, blue and green fires leaped from building to building, seeking to satisfy their ravenous hunger. Three's once proud industrial city was naught but the giant lab of an insane chemist.

Mags hadn't appreciated how sheltered they had been in the sewers.

A sudden clanking sound made the three tributes start. The small assembly line next to them had cracked in half, disintegrated by a transparent substance that dribbled from a hole in the half-collapsed ceiling.

Mags urged them out of the crumbling factory, balling her fists to hide the shake to her hands. She didn't trust herself to speak, afraid her voice would come out as a pitiful croak. Her thoughts were miles away, back to another time where the Capitol had made nature go mad.

_The water looked weird near the shore. Water was not supposed to be gray like that. Mags squinted, standing on tiptoes to see over the rail._

"_Stay away from the shore, something's not right," her uncle said as he turned the boat over._

_The pale dawn sky was empty, no hovercrafts at all. But they were lucky and would have to land soon or they'd be seen and shot down by Capitol patrols._

_The shadow over the shallow waters burst into green flames. Her hand clutching her father's, the child gasped as a wall of fire as long as the coast itself soared towards the skies and cut them off from the shores. A fire that wasn't hot. Was it an illusion? Under them, schools of fish of all sizes and shapes fled towards the deep, away from a human bred madness they could not comprehend._

"_Head for the reefs and drop the nets, we must get fish or we will starve," her father said. Mags felt sick at the fear in his voice. This wasn't part of the plan.  
_

_The net was so full it groaned from the weight. It was all they had, fish bred in the pools between the rocks, barely enough to survive, crab and fish and mollusks, barely enough water, and the flames; day after day, nothing but the flames, thirst and cold. Those had been the good days, before her favorite cousin Freya had died of a stupid cough they couldn't cure. Before her father went swimming to grab the net that a violent storm had stolen from them and didn't come back._

_They'd been the strongest people Mags had known. She still didn't understand how they could be gone. It was just her, her uncle, Lazuli and Ebony now._

_The green fire burned day and night: Capitol hovercrafts threw bags and more bags in the waves, bags of a weird material that dissolved and freed the gray powder. The gray powder which cut District Four from the sea that had sustained them through the rebellion. Whenever she could sit and rest, the eight year old stared at the shimmering barrier until her head ached and her eyes burned. Her mother was behind there somewhere. Mags tried so hard, but she couldn't remember what her baby sister had looked like. At least her mom and Esperanza were safe, or so her dad had promised. She couldn't ask him why he had been so sure of it anymore.  
_

_Next to her, she heard Ebony cough. A bad cough. The eight year old buried her face between her scraped knees. Not Ebony too._

Mags checked her mask twice as she pulled herself together. The Capitol had never hid its disregard for the environment, scouring the land with the most vicious weapons it could invent, but she had never thought to see such a thing again. Luckily, they were alone for the moment. She hoped they would have the element of surprise.

"We're here," Fife said, pointing on the map, "the hovercraft crashed around here and the Scavengers would have come out in that area. In any case, we should go East."

Constantine turned to them, childish glee infusing his voice. "Let's go hunt those Scavengers!"

His tone, more than the words, was so out of character that Mags snorted. "Let's," she said, happy her companions caught on quickly. From now on, they had to assume that everything they said was heard by the Capitol's metal spies. Her eyes darted around, seeking Sylvan's bird-like cameras rather than the dogs. They needed to find a way to contact the rebels soon, or Sylvan would think they had left, or that they were dead.

Less than a quarter hour later, they almost compromised themselves. The houses stopped abruptly, circling what had once been maybe a playground or landing zone. Now it most certainly was a landing zone. Three hovercrafts, with their engines off but the pilots still inside, were facing each other. Next to one of them, Styx and Delphin were animatedly talking to a handful of Scavengers.

Mags forced Constantine to keep hidden behind the wall. Fife was already crouched, out of sight. The girl from Four then squinted. Those were genuine Scavengers, adults, all of them, thin and pale, their shoulders hunched and their clothes worn. She looked around, her heartbeat increasing. Robin from Seven was nowhere in sight.

* * *

**Not much action here, but it will pick up again. I hope you enjoyed the interaction and background.  
**

**So yes, there was a real plot point to those headaches I gave my characters earlier. You'll learn even more of the Capitol's 'master plan' in the next chapters. If you're confused about how they're under surveillance, don't hesitate to tell me, I know things may be a bit confusing and I'll try to edit to make the chapter clearer.  
**

**Please review.**


	17. Lies

**Violence and disturbing content (still T rated). The story wouldn't make sense without it. The Capitol's plans (a big chunk of them at least) are finally revealed.**

* * *

There seemed to be no hostility between the two tributes and the Scavengers.

Out of the group's sight, Mags leaned against a secure looking wall. She remembered how rigid Styx had been in her beliefs. The redhead from District Two had been curt and quick to call the other would-be-Careers to order when they had put down the other tributes, but she still had volunteered to be recognized as the strongest, for the _glory_ awarded by the Hunger Games. Styx was a peculiar blend of decent and brainwashed, one that made Mags' skin crawl. Yet, Styx had been blunt and guileless and Mags couldn't envision her scheming with Scavengers. This left one last option: Styx had been instructed to speak to them and those particular Scavengers were the reasonable and sane kind. Four out of over a hundred, it was quite possible.

"What can Styx offer them? Did the Capitol convince her that the rebels who cooperated would be pardoned?" Constantine said.

Mags nervously clutched her pike as his confusion echoed her own. The three hovercrafts and the Careers' pristine appearance were proof enough that Delphin and Styx had been to the Capitol and now were back. Yet it had only been two days since the Careers had torched part of the Scavengers' den, so they couldn't have reached the Capitol so fast, not unless a hovercraft had come to pick them up. _What for?_ Mags had a shrewd idea of how Capitolites fought, using infiltration, rumor mongering and spreading dissent to make up for inferior numbers, but she couldn't claim to understand how President Achlys thought. It took a twisted mind to invent and enforce the Hunger Games.

The golden-eyed woman had claimed that the old President had retired and named her his successor. So had democracy, an agonizing and flawed illusion of democracy, died in Panem. With a whipcord voice and a gift for glaring right at _you_ when she made speeches on screen, Evadne Achlys sowed nightmares as much as fear and misery. She insidiously used logical-sounding arguments and caring words to twist any watcher's minds, and only after did one see how wrong her reasoning was and yet how very close everyone had been to agreeing with her. She was barely fifty and could live to decide of Mags' grandchildren's fates. That icy realization spurred sizzling energy in the young woman's tiring limbs. Mags couldn't wait for Time to solve her problems. She ached to move but was painfully aware that she had to think first.

"Leave them alone," Fife said, tugging on Constantine's arm, "hovercrafts aren't our target. It'd be a waste of grenades and attacking them is foolish. We'll get hurt."

But being afraid of dangers could kill them as surely as a blade. Safe solutions weren't always as safe as they seemed. Mags dearly hoped she hadn't been wrong about the Capitol's propaganda plan. She was treading on thin ice, especially if she expected to survive despite having made her opinions clear. A plan about the last was slowly forming in her mind.

"Heroic kills earn you sponsors," Constantine said, his voice thick with sarcasm, "there are two tributes there and they must die."

_Forget sponsors_, Mags wanted to shout. That system was disgusting. Instead, she lifted a hand to her sweaty face only to encounter the mask's unyielding pane. She breathed in deeply and ran her tongue over her teeth. The air was pastier than normal. She groaned. They'd never thought to stay out so long, and now they were paying for their lack of preparation. They wouldn't be protected for much longer.

"The masks' filters are clotting up," she explained, "let's find the _Scavengers._ They're our priority."

"We were in these streets for a day and a night without masks and fared well enough."

"Don't tempt the Devil, Constantine," Fife snapped. She checked on the Careers one last time before gesturing to the side. "Better walk facing the wind, less surprises that way."

Constantine's words nevertheless soothed Mags' fears. He was right, they weren't in immediate danger from the environment.

They didn't need to walk far.

Hidden by the howling wind and cackling fires, a large camp lay amidst the ruins. Two of the dog-like robots were monitoring the path they'd just taken. They were concealed well enough that not seeing them would be believable. Mags made a point not to make eye contact. She focused on the men and women slumped on the dirty ground. Beneath the ragged clothing and sickly skins, they were too skinny and their eyes looked too dull to be Atli's people. The Scavengers had been misguided but alert and not so dangerously underfed. The seated people all held whips of leather and wire, yet Mags could not remember ever seeing such weapons in the sewers. A last, much smaller group, wore makeshifts masks. Those showed no skin at all and were talking animatedly next to a large tent. Who were they? Disguised avoxes? Except avoxes were mute. Dauntless Capitolites seeking thrill? Drugged prisoners whose minds the Capitol had altered? All those possibilities made her sick with dread.

She spotted other robots, on the roofs, placed so that none would film the other but numerous enough to cover the whole scene. Those were in plain sight yet the false Scavengers ignored them. Yes, the Capitol was making a movie. Mags shivered, seeing her distress reflected plainly in Fife's wide eyes._ What horrid lies did the Capitol want to feed the districts?_ Constantine already had a grenade in his hand.

"Wait," Fife said, "what are they doing?"

Constantine's voice was thick with disgust and fury. "It doesn't matter. Harm. These people need to be destroyed."

"If it's dynamite in that weird tent, or any equivalent," Fife said stiffly, "we're dead if we throw those."

Mags shot Fife a suspicious look. Something in Fife's tone made Mags suspect she had invented the dynamite excuse out of sheer curiosity.

_But what if it is dynamite?_ An irritating voice whispered in her ear. She told herself that she couldn't kill without a reason. Except how many more reasons did she truly need? False scavengers, cameras everywhere... Wasn't she just being a coward? It was obvious that all this was engineered by the Capitol, for the Capitol. No good could come of it.

"Mags?"

Mags tensed, biting back a scream of frustration. Why did he insist on making it her decision! Constantine could do her the bloody favor of killing human beings without her stamp of approval.

"Up," one of the masked men suddenly ordered.

Before the Mags' wary eyes, the others obeyed as one, with a stiff efficiency that only increased Mags' dread. Real people twitched and looked around, they didn't-

A burst of fire tore her from her horrified musings. Waves of red flames ate at the tent, as quickly as if it was made of paper. It _disintegrated_ before their astonished eyes.

"That's why it looked odd," Fife muttered. The tremble in her voice got so bad Mags almost couldn't make out her next words."Look at their faces."

Mags was staring at the group of filthy half-naked children the tent had concealed. Her eyes filled with tears at the sight of the badly healed welts on their back. She grabbed on to Constantine, shaking his arm as he could make the scene vanish. They were skin and bones, skinnier than the worst fed in Four. A sharp elbow collided with her hip. She jerked her head back towards the adults pretending to be Scavengers … and understood Fife's horror.

The half-score unmasked men and women wore identical expressions of unadulterated glee and hate, inhuman in their madness. They had all raised their whips and, like one set of programmed robots, began shouting at the children who had rushed towards the piles of acid-ridden metal all around them. The masked men had vanished, and Mags now was convinced these had been the Capitolites who had organized this morbid show.

Whip-lashes cracked in the air, accompanied by horrible words. "We fought for your future, be grateful and earn your keep, whelps!

It was mere seconds before the first exhausted children began to fall. Every time one hit the ground, an adult pounced on them, intent on thrashing them to the brink of death. Their screams of pain filled the air, but were not loud enough to cover the adults' voices, as if they had no energy to spare.

"That's how you repay our sacrifices, such disgusting laziness? We saved you from the Capitol's evil clutches. We offer you a home, freedom and pride, and you imagine you can laze about? We feed you too much!"

A petrified Mags refused to believe her eyes. They'd kill all the children by sunset with such treatment. A detail caught her attention. The accent was accurate but the vocabulary was wrong.

_This is a propaganda movie._ Her mind urgently reminded her. This is what the Capitol wants people to believe of rebels. These were people of the districts captured and hijacked by the Capitol to act like the worst kind of criminals and show the districts that rebels were hateful beings. _Don't expect logic._

It had the effect of a slap. She straightened, shaking off her shock at such brutal behavior. The Capitol had had years to twist the minds of hijacked prisoners to viscerally hate those poor children. And whose children? Where did they come from? Could they be the sons and daughters of the very people hijacked to hurt them? What had the Capitol done to them?

Mags could taste blood on the lip she had bitten out of sheer rage. Any viewer in the districts would think these were genuine rebels beating the crap out of their own kids. They would think rebels were monsters. Few would ever guess the Capitol had warped the minds of prisoners and set everything up.

"Do you know what the punishment is if you're particularly lazy," a man roared as he grabbed a struggling tiny girl by the hair, a lecherous grin making its way on his cruel face. A woman besides him laughed as he slapped the child's backside, letting his grimy hand linger.

Horror creased Mags' features. Behind the reprogramming, these people were innocent victims, but she couldn't let this go on too. She would kill the children too, but this time, the three of them truly had no alternative. Mags wanted to hope those people would rather have died than become such monsters.

"Now," she snarled.

She realized Constantine was too absorbed in the nightmarish scene to have heard her. She grabbed his arm and gave him a violent shake. "Now!"

_And where was Fife?_

Mags spun on herself. _There!_ The criminally curious girl who had made them wait was now hiding in a corner, clutching her mask and staring away from the screams. Mags squashed her nascent pang of pity, too angry to put herself in the other's place.

"You coward! At least hand me the extra grenades," Mags said, all but tearing Fife's backpack open.

Constantine's sudden chuckle made her snap back towards him, weapons in hand.

"We're not the only ones to have heard the screams," he said, vengeance lighting his handsome face.

Enraged shouts filled the air.

Mags' jaw dropped as she uncorked the three grenades. She hesitated, aware this was not part of the Capitol's show.

_Those were Scavengers. The last of the Scavengers. _The Capitol made them look like the good guys._  
_

Atli's surviving people were rushing towards the scene with rocks and staves, shouting and waving like weapons like madmen. "Beasts! Die! Die!"

"For our father!"

A thrown dog robot sailed through the air, knocking out one of the abusive men. The others didn't react, not until they spotted a few young children among the incoming enraged Scavengers. Mags heart clenched as she recognized Falcon and his friend, the two boys who'd announced their presence to Atli, clutching big rocks. The false Scavengers turned as one, whips raised.

"These children are our property, make your own," one of the skeletal women spat.

"You are weak. We'll steal yours," another of the hijacked men said, eyeing Falcon malevolently.

The Scavengers slowed, exchanging looks of sheer confusion and disgust. Their resolve came back in seconds. Crowbars and rocks joined another robot in the second volley of projectiles.

"For Atli," a man roared, rushing forward.

"YAAAAAAHHHH!"

When the first bloodied corpse hid the ground, teeth marks around his torn nose, Mags knew she had seconds before her sanity fled forever. She steeled herself to live with having blown up Scavengers too. Adrenaline sizzled through her veins.

A harsh familiar voice reached her ears. "I'm with you, Mags."

Now certain of Constantine's steadfastness, her eyes narrowed in sharp focus. All the anger and frustration she'd accumulated in the last two weeks were released in three rapid throws. She watched five grenades sailed for different zones of the camp.

Constantine jerked her backwards before the projectile hit. She snapped back to reality, now all too aware of the danger. Constantine all but threw Fife over his shoulder as they scrambled for cover.

The world exploded, hot air slamming them down. The clay ground gave way under them. Mags rolled over debris, blinded by the dust, her hands desperately keeping her mask into place. Her gloves tore as she tried to latch on to the gray rocks. She moaned in pain as she crashed knees first on hard soot-covered granite. From the height of the fall, they weren't deeper than the second level of the sewers. The walls were burnt, either from the crash or from the fire the Careers had lit before. Mags gasped in relief and jumped to her feet as soon as the heat dissipated. Enough daylight filtered through the holes in the ceiling to make the torchlight unnecessary. Mags yanked her companions upright to make sure they were okay. Her grip tightened painfully on Fife's shoulder.

"You-"

"No," Fife said, cutting her short, "I am sorry I didn't let you two blast them earlier, but I don't see how me watching _that _would have made the world a better place. The screams were bad enough. Sorry about thoughtlessly keeping the grenades too," she added in a small voice. Her black eyes misted with tears. "I am not as brave as you and I can't always be who you need me to be. I do try not to screw things up."

Mags took a useless calming breath and let go of the shorter girl. Fife didn't deserve to be shouted at. Mags pounded her fists on the wall in rage and ripped her now useless gloves off. "We made it, they didn't. Let's not talk of this again or I'll be ill."

"You were right, Mags. To go to such an extent to forge lies…" Constantine let his voice die and sagged against the rocks, looking lost. "My mother protects those people...They... they have no boundaries."

Bright light suddenly blinded them. Constantine's arms went protectively around a frozen Mags. It was a hovercraft's spotlight.

"Good afternoon, Tributes."

"Yeah, _hi_ to you too," Fife said acidly, shielding her tearful eyes.

Mags was to furious to even consider a curt a response. Her whole body was shaking uncontrollably, air struggling to enter her lungs. Never, _never!_ , had she imagined the Capitol would go so far to crush the rebel spirit. She was glad for Constantine's arms, or she would have thrown her pike at the hovercraft, and common sense be damned.

President Achlys' deceitfully benevolent voice filled the air. "You rightfully killed the rebels you would have yesterday supported. Do you see now, what people become without Capitol guidance? You have seen that these creatures had food for years. We never starved them or hunted them down. We waited instead for them to see the error of their ways and come back to us. We were ready to forgive and welcome anyone willing to work for the prosperity of Panem.

Your ancestors knew that only madness would exist outside Capitol rule. For over a century, we lived in harmony with the Districts. Greed made you forget that wisdom. You would have destroyed the Panem your forefathers had worked so hard to build. These Hunger Games are not about surviving in an arena. We want you to confront your wrongheaded and destructive beliefs. We want you to become the citizens your forefathers would have been proud of. We want you to come back to us. We are not the enemy. We are here to guide you and to keep this world just and prosperous. Do you now see why we must protect you from yourselves? Our battered homeland cannot afford any more of this foolishness."

The light turned off and the hovercraft left. The roar of engines faded away, leaving the stunned tributes behind.

The words tore through Mags like a delayed bomb. She screamed; a scream of pure rage that resounded against the sewer walls and filled the sizzling city air only to rebound on the surrounding mountains, the scream of a cornered animal that would rather bite its leg off than remain trapped. She clutched her stomach, her knees buckling under her. She screamed as if it somehow would knock some sense and justice into the world, as if it would make the Districts immune to the lies the Capitol would feed them until they either swallowed them or choked to death. She screamed as if it would give the Districts the strength to fight back and end this reign of exploitation and terror.

Her scream broke off suddenly when she felt strong hands grasp her arms and a sharp knife press against her stomach. She faintly struggled against Constantine's iron hold, more out of reflex then anything. Fife's knife cut through her already torn protective suit.

"Damn, acid does hurt," Fife said, throwing a large strip of the suit away and placing a bandage on Mags' reddened, but perfectly alright, skin. "Sorry for not noticing earlier, Mags. You should be fine now," Fife finished with a forced small smile.

A flushed Mags met the girl's pained eyes, wondering if anyone would be fooled. Fife understood, at least a little, and she tried to help how she could. Constantine's eyes had slowly opened in the last week, but it didn't matter. The Capitol would never care. Mags furiously dismissed her earlier qualms about killing brainwashed Capitolites. They were the culprits and indirectly killed people every day. The victims deserved a better world, even if it meant denying salvageable Capitolites a second chance. Mags still wanted to scream but she could also hear the promise she had made to her mother, to her district. She had to convince the Capitol that she wasn't a threat. She couldn't start ranting about them. She had to pretend she was considering their words.

"Thanks, Fife" she finally said, her voice hoarse.

A dulled pounding noise caught their attention. It came from inside the crumbled sewer wall. It wasn't the scratching of a trapped robot. Mags gingerly tapped the mix of clay and acid-eaten granite with her pike.

The noise stopped. A pained rasp reached their ears, almost too low to be heard. "Help!"

Constantine arched an eyebrow, not letting go of Mags' shoulders. "The rock talks."

Coughs and imprecations followed that statement. "Mother's love, get that stuff off me!"

"I think we should help the talking rock," Fife said, taking a deep breath.

Mags twisted herself out of Constantine's grip, feeling a surge of much healthier and more mundane anger suffuse her body. Why where they hesitating when for once they actually could do something useful?

"What's wrong with you two? Stop talking, let me go, and help me dig him up!"

* * *

**AN: This chapter stubbornly refused to come together, it probably was the one I took the most time to write yet. I hope it didn't disappoint and that the Capitol's motives make sense.**

**Please review.  
**


	18. Survivor

It was excruciatingly slow to get the boy out of the debris. They finally caught a glimpse of him as the sun was nearing the horizon. Mags' scratched fingers were slick with blood as she had struggled to find grips on the treacherous rocks. Fife was the only one with some experience of unstable piles of material, but even she had rarely had to worry about rocks collapsing and crushing a trapped person. At least Delphin and Styx hadn't come looking for them. Mags wondered what they could possibly be doing.

Mags groaned as she and Constantine pushed the last of the boulders aside. A ripping sound reached her ears.

"Cover your mouth completely, use this like a scarf," Fife said. She handed the dust covered boy a strip of her over-large uniform vest before he'd even let go of Constantine's outstretched hand.

He wiped his face and complied without asking questions. Mags recognized him instantly.

Keane Embers, with such wild bushy eyebrows that Mags had thought of him as _Demon -_even if she had had nothing against the boy- before she had memorized his name. He had grown too much in too little time: his limbs were too long and his step awkward, but Mags had been captivated by those unique eyebrows and found herself staring,_ again_, at those wide-set brown eyes that had never been shy to return her rude gaze in the Capitol. Now those eyes were sunken, almost hidden beneath huge purple bags. Wrinkles forced them into a permanent wince, wrinkles that had no place on a face so young, wrinkles that had not been there in the Capitol.

Withdrawn during training, Keane had spoken to her once.

"_There is them: Lila, Jay, Will, Robin, Synthra... and there is what the Capitol wants them to be. It's like they're all fighting an inner battle with their evil twins, the ones who whisper that becoming killers is the only way, that it's okay. They're all convinced they have to be something else, something dark, to have a chance. You're still in control, Mags. I'd like us to both stay that way and to warn the other when we start slipping."_

She had answered with a vague 'I'll consider it' at the time. She had. She had liked his stubborn refusal to surrender his control in the name of 'mere' survival. She had hesitated because of the Capitol's obvious dislike of the boy from District Twelve.

"_You can kill me, but you can't break me, Flickerman. See these," he'd said, flexing his muscles, "those I got from building things. What have you ever built? What have you done that's worth something real?"_

He had been the opposite of Fife, quick to remind the Capitol why the interviews were a stupid idea in the first place. _Of course _tributes would jump on the occasion to show how they felt about the Capitol. But the crowd hadn't seemed to mind. They knew they were hated, which was why they loved the tributes who cooperated so much.

"You're the crazy chick who tried to murder Flickerman and went on about seeing the future," he then said, frowning at Fife.

_If only Fife had really tried to murder Flickerman..._

"Aye, you'll live to see tomorrow," Fife replied, deadpan.

Keane barked a laugh but his features remained tight.

"We must head for the bunker. I cannot breathe," Constantine said, a hand on his mask.

Mags was surprised not to see hear Keane protest or ask questions. From the looks he was shooting the taller boy, she wasn't sure he'd recognized Constantine. She slowed her pace to walk behind Keane and assess his physical state. He wasn't limping and moved his arms a lot as he walked. She relaxed after having double checked for blood stains on his torn reaping suit.

"What happened to Rapid?" She asked. She was determined not to dwell on the filthy lies with which the Capitol had dared justify their horrid actions, not until she could trust herself to keep her cool, or until she was safe from spies. She should have been relieved to finally know the Capitol's motives, but knowing they had been abandoned near rebel settlements to provide the Capitol with soundless records they could turn into the vilest propaganda was little comfort.

"What kind of question is that?" Keane said, his lips curling bitterly as his face lost the little color it had, "it's the Hunger Games, Mags."

_Indeed. _She was painfully aware of that.

"So he should be another nameless corpse? You cared, it should matter. The cameras won't show us the truth. They are why we need the scarves, in case you wondered. The Capitol gets no sound feed except if those robots get close."

Keane pressed his fist to his mouth so hard that Mags feared he would choke on his scarf. A terrible thought brought her to a halt: what if Keane had had to kill his ally?

The boy lowered his voice. "What could have made us listen to the Capitol, honest? We'd headed South, figuring we'd find a city, get away from it all. After five days, we'd finished our water. We were so tired, but we could see houses. We made camp and slept like babies, so sure we were safe." He laughed, a hoarse hollow sound. "We woke up back near the train wreck on the sixth day. We'd not noticed being moved at all. Back to square one, save that instead of supplies we got _this,_" he said, baring his forearm with a snarl. "The Capitol got upset at us not behaving like good little puppies."

A long Y-shaped mark, covered with crusty blood, shone green on his freckled skin.

Mags failed to contain a horrified gasp. The mark of insolence, etched on the offenders' arms with a curved thick knife. It was a special knife, coated with a highly fluorescent substance to make sure the scar would remain visible, even in the darkness, for months. Mags hadn't counted the times that she had woken covered in sweat and shivering, her hands feverishly checking her arms for scars. She had been ten the day she had seen one of her more outspoken and foolish schoolmates carved like some piece of spare bark by an irate peacekeeper. It was one of the rarer punishments but hardly a unique occurrence.

"It was crystal clear those beasts had never lost sight of us. Rapid lost control. He couldn't take this and it got worse when the memories started coming back. He killed himself." Keane paused, raw grief sucking the light out of his eyes. "That's what we all should do. All kill ourselves on the first minute of the Games. Teach them we won't march to their tune. But we just can't. We're too weak to be real about our chances and we keep giving them their show, year after year."

A stubborn tear rolled unseen down Mags' cheek. She couldn't imagine walking alone in the ruins, Fife and Constantine dead, with no goal in mind and no one to turn to. She busied her hands with the straps of her backpack and pulled out one of the nut-pastes. She handed it to Keane along with water, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

Sorry for Rapid. Sorry for him. Sorry for playing along. Sorry not to have anything better, anything useful, to say.

Keane put a hand on her arm and squeezed it gently before taking the food. "Survival's such a strong thing. The Games are all about it. It's just wrong that we couldn't be that strong when fighting those beasts for real, during the rebellion," he said between two bites.

He barely chewed before swallowing, ripping chunks of the sticky biscuit and licking his dirty fingers. He had to have been starving. She shot Fife and Constantine a pained look, wondering how she could muster the strength to go through with the Games. _Survival._ She told herself Keane would have many an occasion to die bravely before the end. Stabbing him right now with her pike wouldn't heighten her winning chances so much. Still, he'd be dead, they'd all die.

"Who were your allies, Fife?" Constantine asked after a uncomfortable pause.

Mags winced. She could hardly have thought of a worse question to lighten the mood.

"Stitch Cordura," the girl said, helpless anger and guilt obvious on her usually mild face. She gave Constantine a tight smile, her eyes hooded and far away. "The kind pushover with a six in training. His lips were full like a girl's and his voice still cracked. He was lost and afraid. He'd have done anything I'd have said. I made him laugh and he was crafty. You saw him a few days ago."

Mags frowned, unable to recall the name. The last sentence made no sense._ Keane had seen him?_

Fife's voice fell to a pained whisper."Well, _part_ of him. In the Citadel. I only remembered later..."

Mags' breath hitched. _The head_. That sweet curly-haired boy. She clenched her teeth and steadied herself on the nearest solid thing - a stiff Constantine.

"You don't want to know, Keane," Fife said, bitterness tainting her shaking voice, "he's dead. They're all dead except us, Lila, and the two, maybe three, Careers." She turned to the Constantine, a small affectionate smile gracing her lips. "What about you, talent-hunter?"

_Why did she ask?_

Fife ripped her mask off to wipe her tears and forced a smile before covering her mouth with her scarf. "So he should be another nameless dead, Mags?" She said, repeating Mags' earlier words without the slightest hint of mockery.

Mags looked down, wondering how she could be seventeen and still feel _old_. She lifted her chin back up, pride lighting her eyes. Pride at her two steadfast companions who understood more than she would ever have expected of people so different from her. They were finishing what she had started: they knew little of the dead, but what little they knew, they would share. A duty of remembrance in a world of lies. Poor eulogies, but it was all they had to offer.

"You and Mags."

Mags couldn't help but eye him suspiciously. Fife looked similarly surprised.

Constantine chuckled softly. "You were the only people I was still curious about by the end of the interviews, the only ones I truly wanted to see survive the bloodbath. Medlar from Eleven had character but his other allies were weak." Constantine's tone wasn't judgmental, just resigned. "He fell in love. It wasn't his fault..."

_No, it wasn't. _Mags painfully remembered how the brave dark-skinned boy had jumped off the chariot during the rides to catch the fallen girl from Eight_._ She lengthened her strides. This talk of dead people only rekindled her anger. The silence wasn't broken this time.

Mags and Constantine removed their masks when their feet hit the third underground. The chafing drafts were less violent and the corridors finally silent. They opened their protective coats and pulled up their scarves to their noses.

"Those come from the train," Keane said, gesturing at the scarves, "but where did you get the whole end-of-the-world gear?"

He seemed to be struggling to ask questions, to pay attention to his surroundings. Mags' jaw tightened, seeing the first signs of post-trauma breakdown in the boy. The dullness in his eyes was a dark omen of everything that still awaited them. Mags briefly told him about the Citadel, the Scavengers and the bunker. She couldn't believe it had only been a week, well _two_, since she had left home.

"So some of that crazy stuff was real... Scavengers, huh? It's screwed up." He made a weird noise with his throat. "But less screwed up than the Capitol swearing it's doing it all for our bleeding happiness."

Mags nodded somberly. She could still feel the heat from the explosion on her clothes. Screwed up was just the tip of the iceberg. It was the methodical destruction of every last shred of hope the districts held on to. And the Capitol wanted _them_ to be part of it. How had the Capitol had gotten so proficient at not seeing district people as human beings? It was as if they had become a separate species.

Those monsters had to be destroyed.

"You don't mind my presence?" Constantine said after a pause.

He evidently hadn't gotten over Lila's insults. Mags cynically wondered if being self-centered wasn't the best way to go when the world was such a wreck. But then, if she was to make this just about herself, she had no reason not to let the others win.

_Esperanza, Mother. _She did have reasons to come back, but if she did it just for them, she should never have left home. She would hate herself forever if all of this had been for naught. She wondered if she'd manage not to hate herself even if she succeeded.

Keane arched his thick eyebrows. "Why, used to being shouted at by us savage outliers? I wish I had a problem with you. It'd mean things would not have been screwed up enough to give me some scary perspective. Besides, I'm a freckled kid from the Seam," he said, as if that explained everything.

Mags looked at him blankly.

"Your parents are from other districts?" Fife guessed.

"Mum got knocked up by a peacekeeper before the war. It doesn't sit well with most people. Dad was cool but he died when I was a kid and his cousin Lucre is still there. He blatantly, favors Mum and me," he said, sounding disgusted.

"Why complain? Sure people might make it hard on you, but if he means well-"

Keane cut Fife with another harsh short laugh. "Dad was a turncoat, just enough of one for Lucre to feel it's a stain on the family honor, but not enough for people to feel they owe his memory even the slightest respect. Lucre favors us for stuff we don't need, publicly, because it keeps people hating." He gave them a toothy mirthless smile. "So no, I've got no problem with you, man."

Constantine granted him a small smile. Mags felt ill, now unable to tear her thoughts away from Keane's mother, who would lose her only child. Mags shouldn't have been able to be more outraged by the Capitol's actions after seeing their unspeakable _movie_, but hearing it like that made it painfully personal.

"That's a different stone," Keane said as they finally reached the large room where all the covers were stored, in the sixth underground.

Mags stiffened, remembering Fife's shout as the concealed ill scavenger had grabbed her wrist in this very room. With the discovery that their memories had been stolen from them, his death had been swiftly forgotten, but now Mags wished they had done something with the body. Death seemed to follow the everywhere they went.

"Miner boy knows his stuff," Fife joked, managing even a genuine smile, "this part isn't sewers, it was built later. We're not far now."

She was looking everywhere except at the heap of sulfur-stained covers hiding the man she had killed, but it unfortunately caught Keane's attention.

"There's a corpse under there," Mags said, "stay away and don't remind the cameras of it."

_Don't remind us of it. _

But Keane seemed to be gripped by some kind of morbid fascination. He gingerly peered under the blankets. His stiff expression melted into shock.

"Whoa! You killed a Capitolite?"

"What?" Fife exclaimed. She rushed to his side, her face having lost all color.

"Fancy silver nails, more silver stuff on his skin." Keane's wild eyebrows shot up, covering up his whole forehead. He spun towards Fife, as if he'd never seen her before. "Blazes, _you _killed him?" He backed away, suddenly afraid; more animated than he'd been in hours.

Mags frowned. She and Constantine probably looked more like killer types, but she wondered why he'd automatically thought they had killed him instead of having found the body. She belatedly realized that in order to end up under a pile of rocks, he had to have seen them throw the grenades. And hear her screams. Mags became suddenly self conscious. What would the districts think of her actions? What credibility would she really have as a victor? Would parents entrust her with their kids? Already some kids trained, but most of them weren't right in the head. She needed training to become widespread if she wanted it to strengthen Four instead of just providing bloodthirsty killers for the Capitol's Games.

Mags' heart suddenly pounded harder against her ribs. It was much too easy to forget the cameras. She set the torch's lighting to minimal and gestured at the others to be quiet. Any conversation involving the Capitol was better kept away from prying ears.

Fife didn't answer. Instead she was looking at the corpse "We sleep here tonight," she muttered after a tense pause. She was nervously hugging herself but her dark eyes were glinting with something almost akin to reluctant awe. Considering Fife's love for puzzles, this wasn't a good sign.

"So it wasn't leprosy."

Mags shot Constantine an annoyed glance. His reproachful comment was unnecessary and it was a little late for that anyway.

"Indeed not, Constantine. I saw grayish skin in the gloom and leaped to hasty conclusions," Fife said with forced calm. "He was here to talk to someone. We'll wait here."

"You want us to sleep next to the corpse?" Constantine said in noncommittal tones. He squared his shoulders as Fife shot him an apologetic look. "Very well…if it's your best idea."

Mags' lips twisted into a grim smile. It was high time they got first hand answers instead of guessing. "Let's catch this contact_._"

"Why not leave him to rebel justice?" Fife said as she began to pace.

Mags frowned. Why not indeed? But soon, she was shaking her head. "We'll need proof because it's probably someone they trust, and if there are multiple traitors we could risk being intercepted, even killed, before we warn the right people."

She was pretty confident that Sylvan was trustworthy, but even him they knew very little.

Fife nodded, her fidgeting increasing.

"We passed here two evenings ago," Constantine pointed out, "why would this man have come so early? The contact is doubtless long gone. Had you bothered to treat him like a human being, we might have caught them."

"It's incredible that you have greater respect for dead bodies than for the living," Fife said, her face flushing in anger as she turned towards him, "moreover the body wasn't moved and it's a huge liability. So whoever we will be waiting for hasn't come yet." She then huffed. "But you do have a point, Constantine. Mags, may I borrow your pike?"

Mags threw it over, a frown marring her brow.

Constantine smiled thinly. "Living beings have the ability to earn my respect. It is their fault when they fail. A dead man cannot speak and is to be treated with the respect he had the potential to earn. It costs little to give one a proper resting place."

Ah living up to Constantine's expectations... Mags shook her head with a small smile. Amidst all this chaos, his consistency was oddly reassuring.

Keane had edged back some more, a knife half concealed behind his leg. Mags inwardly sighed and walked up to him. She put a hand on his arm. "They've been like this since the beginning. Start worrying when Constantine doesn't respond to an accusation and keep in mind that if Fife ever attacks it won't be front on."

Keane stared at them before shrugging. Mags winced again at his passivity. She didn't have the energy to try and confront him about it. He wouldn't survive the week anyway and caring only hurt.

Fife flashed him a grin. She then began poking at the pile of covers with the pike. "Careful there's something corrosive on the wooden end. You shouldn't have tapped it on the ground so much," she muttered, changing her grip on the weapon. She then brightened despite looking nauseous. "There it is."

She pulled a backpack out of the heap. It was made of the best leather and decorated with colored feathers. She emptied it out and let out an incredulous breath. "A portable microwave. No joke. And...-" the girl frowned - "rolls... to microwave evidently." At odds with her shaking hands, Fife's tone grew increasingly flippant and detached. "This was probably the man's idea of high adventure. I doubt life is thrilling in the Capitol for someone who doesn't enjoy fashion and parties." She arched her eyebrows and pulled a small book out of the pile of equipment. "And he kept a diary, how cute." She flipped through the pages. "Nothing confidential at first glance. This guy left days early to explore around here. He was _totally psyched_ by the _phantasmagorical atmosphere_ and it's definitely his first trip outside the Capitol. He speaks of President Achlys in awe and he's thrilled at the prospect of being given information she will find useful."

Mags let go of a breath she hadn't been aware of holding. At least the man had been neither a fugitive nor a rebel.

Fife had stopped on an entry, her lips twitching until a mocking smile graced her lips. "The contact will know he's alive because of the tracker in his bag. Apparently, if he were dead, his bag would have been moved from the rendez-vous point by his murderers and the contact would know there was a problem."

Mags frowned. _Contact_, not contacts. Hopefully they would be dealing with a man -or woman- alone.

"Burying him and taking his supplies would have been a terrible idea. I'm glad you listened to me," Constantine said, keeping a straight face.

Fife flashed him a grin. "We'll make a point to always listen to you just as carefully."

Constantine shot her a withering glare, but his lips were definitely twitching. It was ridiculous how handsome he looked even after an explosion and days since their last bath.

Mags failed to repress a small smile. Keane just stared at them in disbelief. Mags' smile grew sad. Five days before, she would have been outraged at seeing them so flippant about this. This man was a Capitolite but _they had killed him_. It was no joking matter. Except _nothing_ was a joking matter anymore. Humor, no matter how misplaced, was a shield against terror. It kept them going.

The vision of a shaking Fife curled up on the ground, barely moving when Mags had all but ripped her bag open for grenades, was still vivid in her mind. Now, despite the dark shadows marring her face, Fife's eyes were sparkling with mischief.

_Survival._ Life slapped you down and you pulled yourself back up. It really all came back to that.

"So how do we quickly incapacitate a person, who could potentially be a very muscular man, and armed with a gun?" Mags said.

* * *

**Author's Note: any guesses on who that mysterious contact may be? Clue: We have already seen that person.**

**Keane is really beaten down because of what happened to him. I hope you still got a sense of personality from him.  
**

**Please review^^  
**


	19. Traitor

Mags' eyes immediately latched onto the new light source. The sound of steps, low and brisk, reached her attentive ears. She was sitting behind a long row of loaded shelves, peering through the piles of folded covers, her filthy protective coat discarded on the floor.

A lean male silhouette, hooded in a coat similar to theirs, revealed itself, oblivious to their presence.

A burst of grim satisfaction surged through Mags. She was glad the traitor had come on her watch. She knew the Capitol would be watching and that someone who foiled their plans would pay for it dearly, but after their declaration about wanting to convince rebels of their errors, she decided that she would make a great show of being convinced, but _later_. She _had_ to know what this man was up to and what he already had done, and _why_.

She put a hand on Constantine's arm. His eyes opened at once, as if he had been awake all along. Mags let the other two sleep, not wanting the man to slip through her fingers.

The man had no mask, only a black scarf around his face. _Citadel. _Mags' eyes dropped to his hands. He was unarmed, for now. He headed straight for the Capitolite's concealed corpse. There was no mistake, this was the contact.

Soon he would have passed them and Constantine would be behind him.

A barefoot Mags silently walked to the other extremity of the row, keeping out of sight behind the shelves.

She faked wary sleepiness as she revealed herself. "Who are you?" She said.

The man started in surprise and dropped the torch. His hand flew to his side. Constantine, who'd used the distraction to sneak up on him, leaped on his back, slamming him down while Mags jumped back behind the shelves for protection. She lunged for the rope she had purposefully stored there.

"Mags!" Constantine called, struggling to bodily restrain and muffle the thrashing and cursing figure on the floor.

A gun lay abandoned near him. Mags kicked the weapon aside. They had the man solidly tied and gagged in seconds. She smiled at a panting but satisfied-looking Constantine. They had been swift and silent, perfect.

Constantine paled. His eyes had focused at something right behind her. He grasped her wrist and pulled her behind him.

Slightly panicked, Mags spun round. _What had gone wrong?_

Fife was leaning against the shelves, a dark mass in the gloom. She had the gun in her hands, pointed straight at them.

Mags' breath caught. She gaped, unable to process the situation. Her muscles were locked in place.

"I don't want to kill you, but it's the Hunger Games and I don't need you to make him talk." Her voice took a snappy edge. "Keane, stay back, I can see you."

Mags couldn't see Keane from where she was. Scenarios were flashing through her mind. If Keane distracted Fife, Mags could bolt and disarm her, but if Fife shot to kill...

"And yet," Fife said with a theatrical sigh, "how stupid would attracting the attention of everyone on this floor by shooting you guys be? That's why we'd decided to move him right after having caught him, no? So chill."

She lowered the gun as the others failed to move. "Well come on, carry him. I just felt like showing you why leaving a gun on the ground was beyond stupid. Stop trusting each other so much, it's almost insulting. Are you sure he has no weapons left?"

Mags took a deep breath, willing her heart to slow. She had thought herself prepared but she hadn't really paused to consider the others may try to kill her first. Had Fife been serious, Mags couldn't have done anything to stop her. Fife had proven that she didn't hesitate, she wouldn't have given Mags a chance to talk her out of it. The realization slowly sunk in, searing her insides. Never had her own life felt so fragile, her mortality so tangible. Every sensation, the slightest of itches or discomforts felt amplified a thousand fold as if her body insisted on showing exactly what she'd come close to lose.

Constantine pointed the torchlight straight at Fife's face, a dark scowl on his features.

Fife winced. She covered her eyes, flashing them an apologetic smile. "Right, sorry. I could have phrased it differently."

_Phrased it differently? That girl was a living understatement._

Keane's weary voice reached them. "I'll pack the rest of the stuff."

Just from his tone, it was obvious that he thought they were insane.

Mags was still shaking as she removed two knives, a lighter and spray can of some kind from their prisoner's clothes. Fife's warning had not been a joke. The short girl valued her life greatly and now had a gun, a peacekeeper-issued security gun with ten bullets - although there could be less - and an automatic lock-on.

Fife didn't need a gun to kill her. Considering the time Mags spent exposed to her, a knife was just as deadly, Mags thought, trying to rationalize her way out of the fear still freezing her muscles. Instead, the knowledge just told her that even taking the gun from Fife would not guarantee her survival.

"Guys, I'm sorry. I was stressed out, I didn't think. Say something." Fife's eyes then narrowed. She pointed at their prisoner. "Constantine, please put the light on his face."

Constantine complied after a tense pause. The man squinted behind the gag and his thick scarf. They could only see his narrow brown eyes and the bridge of his thin long nose. There was something familiar about them.

Fife's hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp. She gulped. "Hello, Cresyl."

Mags' jaw dropped. _Cresyl._ A man whose rank rivaled, maybe even surpassed, Chickaree's. The rebel who had kept watch on her in the Citadel. No, not _rebel_. This man had been lying to everyone for a decade. Mags couldn't believe it. A part of her hoped this was all a huge misunderstanding. She'd rather have to deal with the mortification of having assaulted an innocent rebel leader than imagine all the damage someone like Cresyl could have done. This wasn't a mere opportunistic collaborator, this was someone with enough loyalty to the Capitol to live a lie among people he had to hate, away from comfort and loved ones.

Mags finally found her voice. "Let's move," she said, blinking back tears.

Constantine threw Cresyl over his shoulder, his whole body tensing with effort. The man struggled once more against his bonds. Constantine tightened his hold without losing his footing. Cresyl soon gave up and went limp.

"Careful, he might jerk violently and surprise you," Mags said, keeping a wary eye on the man.

"And fall on his skull?" Fife said, heavy skepticism in her voice.

Mags' eyes met Cresyl's defiant ones. "He could prefer death to failure."

Constantine tightened his grip.

The four tributes started heading towards a more isolated and defensible part of the sixth underground.

"I am impressed at the eloquence with which you make your points, Fife," Constantine finally said, his voice hoarse.

Fife huffed, guilt written all over her tired face. "I said I was sorry! I wasn't completely awake. I just wanted to make a point. I forgot it was a loaded gun."

"You _forgot_?" Mags exclaimed, incredulous. How could Fife _forget_? Had they scared her that badly? No one could be that exhausted! Mags was heavily tempted to ask the girl to hand the gun over, but she knew Fife would never comply. Only an idiot would.

"Oops," Fife tersely said. She was blushing to the roots.

Constantine laughed, a muffled but genuine laugh that shook his whole body and lit up his features.

The warm sound soaked up the last of Mags' fear. She was torn between indulgent mirth and sheer exasperation. She brought her hands to Fife's neck and pretended to throttle her. "Don't make me wish to kill you," she warned.

Fife flashed her an apologetic grin.

Besides them, Keane's 'they're insane' look had grown even more pronounced. "I'm thinking leaving with your supplies would've been the safe thing to do. You're lucky Fife had the map on her."

_What supplies?_ They had expected to go out for three hours and had only packed two meals apiece and full water bottles because they were paranoid. They'd finished the food -except those suspicious rolls, which she'd rather not touch - and would be out water by midday at most. But Mags wasn't about to say that in front of Cresyl. It was still the middle of the night. She hoped they'd scare him into talking without having to resort to violence, but she didn't believe it. She was desperate to know how the Capitol had won him over.

Fife tied her scarf over Cresyl's eyes, leaving her whole face exposed. Mags stiffened, hoping the other girl wouldn't blurt anything out.

"Just don't want him to know where we're going. Where would you have gone, had you left?" Fife said, turning back to Keane.

Keane shrugged. He then jerked his thumb towards their grim prisoner. "I want to hear what that slimy weasel has to say. How d'you know him?"

_Weasels._ Mags lips twisted. The thought less than a handful of Scavengers had survived left a bitter taste in her mouth. They had hardly made the world a better place, but it still was such a waste of human life.

"We don't know him," she said, shooting Cresyl a disgusted look, "I thought he was a bodyguard before Fife told us that he's powerful in the Citadel. He's lived there nine years. He said he was from Four and had fought in various places, Six, Eight… He all but told us to kill the Scavengers and gave us weapons."

Mags let her voice trail off. Retrospectively, the Capitol did also gain from the Scavengers' deaths. But how had Cresyl kept contact?

They finally reached the isolated room, a large storage space, full of crates, ropes, steel rods and, what seemed, at first glance, maintenance equipment. It had the huge advantage of closing with a barred metal door and giving them some privacy. Mags wiped her clammy hands on her trousers. She feared the Capitol had figured out they'd caught its spy by now. It was still too soon. They couldn't be stopped before they had answers. She tensed at every small noise, listening for the telltale buzz of robots.

Fife retrieved her scarf and put it back around her neck and mouth.

Mags tied Cresyl's back to one of the crates, double checking the knots on his wrists and feet. It was the same rope, so he wouldn't be able to pull his knees even halfway to his chin. She then hesitated. Should they remove his gag completely? The Capitol would hear his words unless they left his mouth covered. The three couldn't turn the torchlight off. But if they didn't remove the gag, the Capitol would know for sure that they'd figured out how the cameras worked, and no good would come of that. They were already treading on thin ice. She removed Cresyl's gag.

The man stared at them in silence. Tension etched in his features. His face looked as if someone had taken a handsome man and then chipped pieces off. Everything about him felt sharp-edged.

"No words in your defense?" Constantine finally said, sweat glistening on his forehead,"Nothing about us being mistaken?"

Mags took a deep breath. "Why did you betray the rebels? What were you meeting that man for?" Her voice cracked near the end. _How could he? He knew these people, he'd heard their hopes and dreams, he had lived amongst them. How could he still be loyal to the Capitol!_

Contemptuous silence was the only answer.

After long suffocating minutes, Cresyl was staring straight at Mags, hate erasing all other emotion. A hate so _personal_ that Mags tore her gaze away, her instincts begging her to flee. She stiffened as Constantine met her gaze, ashamed of her sudden weakness.

Constantine abruptly stepped forwards. He slammed his foot on Cresyl's knee. Not quite hard enough to break it. A rumbling gasp escaped Cresyl's throat.

Mags gripped Constantine's arm, hard enough to bruise. "Cool it with the hitting, Co... peacekeeper son," she said.

She'd barely caught her tongue, _Copspawn. _Luckily the term didn't seem to be District One slang. Her mind was whirring for how to interrogate someone while keeping the messiness to an efficient minimum. She had been too angry, too focused on actually catching the traitor, to think about it properly the night before.

"Do you seek answers or not?" Constantine shot back. "I am not being gratuitous."

Mags released her grip but shook her head. Pain would get Cresyl talking, but he would lie, Mags was certain of it. She needed the truth.

"Save your breath, young man," Cresyl said with a sardonic smile, his jaw tight from pain, "rebels are mighty hypocrites about collateral damage."

"Excuse me?" Mags snapped. She fought the urge to squirm under Cresyl's predatory gaze. _Who was this man?_

"Leaving someone to die is only a problem if you know that person's name, right Peregrine?"

Mags heart skipped a beat. Uneasiness surrendered to shock. "What did you call me?" She said, her voice the barest whisper. She had only taken her mother's maiden name as a precaution and to fit in better in District Four. They had not been listed on the wanted rebels list, unlike her uncle, so Cresyl -and the Capitol- knowing wasn't a disaster. But _how_ did he know? Had they met during the rebellion? His face looked familiar, like any person resembling an acquaintance could look familiar. Except in wasn't pleasant and reassuring familiarity, it was the kind that made you uncomfortable, _guilty_.

Cresyl blinked, looking genuinely surprised. He then barked a laugh. "Your proud rebel father gave up his illustrious name?"

"My father didn't survive the rebellion," Mags said bluntly. She dug her nails into the palms of her hand, willing herself to pay close attention to Cresyl's reaction. A flash of vindictiveness darkened his features at her words, but he didn't look happy, even as a disgusting smug smile drew itself on his face. She was now even more desperate to know who he was._ Why did he hate her so?_

"Peregrine? Imperial Square Inferno Peregrine?" Constantine was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. "You were born in District One? You...your father murdered General Alloy."

_Fire and flames. All their beautiful tapestries, her whole world, burning. And she'd helped make that fire. Because of the evil people. Six year old Mags sobbed in her mother's arms as they fled. She'd forgotten Ruby-cub. She'd left the stuffed bear to burn. She'd helped with the flames. She had never felt so horrible._

"I'm sorry if you mourned some of the dead's passing," Mags said with a soft sigh, "but-"

Cresyl chuckled again. "Such hypocrisy."

"_But," _Mags stressed, willing the stunned-looking Constantine to understand, "General Alloy would have crushed the Districts. He was a cruel man. He had already begun to take children hostage to interrogate the parents suspected of dissent. He was the enemy."

Clever and cruel, and a masterful tactician, Alloy would have been hallowed had he been a rebel, despite the ruthlessness of his plans. _Hypocrite._ But Mags believed that, within reason, the ends justified the means. Alloy's ends had been as foul as his methods. He had single-handedly almost eradicated the dissenters in Thirteen. Had he lived one more month, the Rebellion would barely have earned the name of minor uprising.

Constantine gave her a wan smile but looked away, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. Mags swallowed, wishing she could hear his thoughts. She hated to be put on par with Capitol soldiers. _If we kill them, we're as bad as they are. _She'd heard that more than once._ If we stand by to watch our people exploited and killed, we are but murderers with deceptively clean hands._ She'd answered as often as she dared.

"Of course... And all the collateral damage, tragic but _necessary,_" Cresyl said, spitting the word, "it might have meant something had you actually succeeded. People never suffered so much as during the Dark Days."

Mags opened her mouth to deliver a scathing answer. A hand grasped her wrist, silencing her. She spun round.

"Mags, stop justifying yourself," Fife said, a wary calculating glint in her eyes, "he's the one in chains. And if living nine years in the Citadel didn't change his mind, you won't. He's manipulating you."

Mags swallowed furious words back, grimacing at their foul taste. She nodded at Fife.

A blur darkened the border of her vision. Her head snapped back towards Cresyl. The sharp sound of flesh striking flesh made her instinctively grab for a weapon she didn't have. She had left her pike in a corner of the room.

A red-faced Keane was cradling his wrist, his chest heaving with ire. "They suffer more, you filthy bootlicker," he shouted, spittle flying out of his mouth, "they're just forced to shut up about it not to lose their tongues. At least before they had hope!"

Mags recoiled at the loudness of Keane's voice, astonished to see the sullen tribute so fierce. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he'd started crying. She reached out but Keane shook her hand off his shoulder, taking deep shaky breaths.

Cresyl licked his teeth, blood oozing out of his split lip. "Want me to teach you how we made Peacekeeper Ashlar talk? Loyal, idealist, twenty-three year old Ashlar who sent half his earnings to his widowed father and little sister Calypso? He didn't even want to hunt down rebels, poor lad. Trust me, I'm more skilled at this than you kids," he rasped.

Mags felt something shatter in her as Cresyl stressed the more personal aspects of the peacekeeper's life. _Collateral damage_. _Hypocrites._ Tears of rage filled her eyes. She wouldn't let his words poison her mind. _And yet, so much death, so many families broken._

Keane bodily launched himself on Cresyl before they had a chance to restrain him. "_KIDS_?" He roared, driving his knee in Cresyl's stomach, "there's nothing _childish_ left in us, you slimeball, you took everything," he said, slamming his balled fists against the man's face and chest, "you destroyed _EVERYTHING_," he shouted, his voice breaking.

His vociferations turned into a litany of foul curses as Constantine wrapped his arms around his torso, and struggled to lift him off the bound man. Mags inhaled sharply when she made out Rapid's name. _So much death._ She finally managed to grasp Keane's flailing legs.

Constantine cried out in pain. The crazed tribute's teeth had fastened on his left hand. Mags let go of Keane's legs and swiftly brought her fist against his jaw.

His enraged thrashing instantly stopped.

Keane slumped against a grimacing Constantine who all but dropped him to the floor. Her stiff shoulder muscles screamed in protest as she dragged Keane away from Cresyl. She kept her eyes on Keane's chest as she checked his breathing, too guilty to glance at his face. She hoped she hadn't caused permanent damage, yet she knew it wouldn't matter either way. Her breaths came in shallow bursts, a suffocating weight pressing on her ribcage. Keane was the last person here who deserved to be knocked unconscious. He had suffered so much already….

"Wow, who taught you that?" Fife said, envy unmistakable in her tone as she crouched to search for the medicine kit in the backpacks.

"My mother. Do you want me to help you with the bandage, Constantine?" Mags said, wincing at the deep red marks under his thumb. Keane really hadn't held back.

"Please. They don't have rabies in Twelve, do they?" He sounded genuinely concerned.

Mags snorted. _Rich boy_. "No. They're not dogs."

Fife threw her the medkit. Mags flashed Constantine a smile as he gave her his hand. She felt the gelid hand crushing her lungs slightly loosen its hold and breathed easier, relieved Cresyl's revelations hadn't changed their relationship. With everything going on, she desperately needed Fife and Constantine to be on her side until the very end.

Cresyl cleared his throat and spat on the floor, his face was already swelling from the blows. "Kid can't throw a punch to save his life, didn't even draw blood."

Anger rekindled the simmering fury that had never truly left her since the crash. Who was she to stop Keane from avenging his ally? Why did she protect a man that anyway wouldn't talk? Traitors were executed, such was justice. They should just execute him.

Mags' shaking hand slipped. Constantine hissed as half the bottle of alcohol spilled over his wound. A growl escaped Mags' lips as she hastily tightened her grip on the bottle. _Alcohol_. The most painful of disinfectants. But what else was there to expect from the Capitol? Hate clouded her vision. She willed her grip to be gentle as she bandaged Constantine's hand. And why would Cresyl boast of torturing the peacekeeper? Was it just sheer perversity?

"Thank you, Mags." Constantine turned back towards Cresyl.

The aristocratic boy looked so singularly grim that Fife moved farther away from the prisoner, closer to the door.

"I am no stranger to how peacekeepers incite agitators to reveal their darkest secrets," Constantine said, his voice soft and lethal, "yet even were you not to stop me, strong-willed men are not broken in a single night. Sylvan must be warned. The betrayal in itself could be more important than the reason."

"He is with Chickaree organizing the army of Citadel rebels," Fife said, "we could be stopped if someone sees us with him. Imagine that 'Oops, sorry Chickaree, I shot them on sight when I saw the esteemed Cresyl tied up'. And there is _no frigging way_ we're separating to have someone guard him here while the others leave," she added, pointing a threatening finger at them.

Mags sighed, terrified to make the wrong decision. "But our information could also have no value if we do not know how they were betrayed. It could make them panic and lose precious time. Maybe he was just there to speak to that man," she said, gesturing towards where they'd left the corpse.

She bit her lower lip, as if the sharp pain would help her think. If this was the case, they were probably wasting their time. She searched Fife's and Constantine's faces for answers and saw only exhaustion mixed with anger and fear.

Cresyl's voice filled the room. "There is a railway connecting this bunker and a collapsed one under District Ten. It follows Elysium Avenue, fifty feet underground. It is twenty feet across and has been filled with explosives. Nine years of engineering made sure the force wouldn't dissipate in the tunnel and damage the bunker but instead destroy the Capitol. They've also finished building the escape route because, after the explosion, the bunker will be easily accessible. That's the master plan. And it's about to be put in motion."

Mags, Fife and Constantine had frozen as one, their eyes firmly on each other to make sure the Capitol cameras couldn't focus on Cresyl's lips. Mags had never noticed before how pale freckles made a bow above Fife's slightly uneven eyebrows. Fife fluttered her eyelashes outrageously, making Mags' lips twitch despite everything.

Mags thought she would faint when Cresyl stopped talking. If the Capitol ever heard that, if they shielded their city, if they found a way to turn the explosives on… she couldn't finish that terrible thought.

Cresyl chortled. "Such pretty eyes, a pity you had to knock him out."

Mags felt all warmth flee her face. Trembling so hard she could barely keep her balance, she turned to Keane. She squinted, trying to make sure the gloom wasn't playing tricks on her mind. It wasn't. Dull unblinking eyes stared back at her. _Open_ eyes. Her mouth froze in a silent scream. _No!_

Her strength left her. Her knees buckled. She landed painfully on the cold ground, crushing helplessness stealing her voice.

_How? How could they fix this?_

"We have to warn Teal, _now_," Constantine said, rushing towards the door. "The Capitol can't possibly have the resources to undo the rebels' work in mere hours."

_Yes. That had to be impossible. They would warn them in time._

Cresyl was smiling. _Why was he smiling?_ Mags still couldn't breathe, knifes of light stabbed at her eyes. She forced air in her lungs, desperate for her vision to clear, for a foolproof course of action to present itself.

"Torch off," Fife snapped, her voice a tense whisper.

Constantine shot her a perplexed glance but almost threw the torchlight to the ground in his haste to comply.

Darkness invaded the room.

It took all of Mags' energy to turn her head to follow Fife's gaze. She knew only bad news could follow. Light was filtering from the thin crack underneath the barred door. Blue and yellow light.

"What on earth…" Fife whispered, backing to where Mags was.

Cresyl chuckled again, long mocking chuckles. "The robot dogs buzz but the bugs can weld silently. Whose genius idea was it to lock yourself up?"

Just when Mags had thought it couldn't get worse. It was as if raw wool had been thrown over her senses dulling everything as her brain sought the sweet escape of denial.

White light assaulted her senses as the torchlight went back on. She winced, burying her face in her knees. She could feel all the weariness of the last weeks crashing on her and couldn't see the end of this nightmare.

Constantine hit the metal door so hard it rattled and bent. The hinges groaned and twisted, their shriek piercing through the boy's shout of pure rage. They didn't break.

They couldn't warn anyone. They were trapped inside.

* * *

**Author's note.**

**It's annoying, isn't it? When the enemy has such a huge technological advance on you and the means to make your life difficult. Plus years of planning to make sure their plan would work despite potential interference. And yet Mags and co. did kill the Capitol contact and catch Cresyl, which the Gamemakers had not planned for at all. **

**Now, if somebody can tell me why this is a false cliffhanger, I'm dedicating them the next chapter. Try to picture the situation and think like an engineer (the answer is very simple, no education needed). And yes, the door is effectively welded shut.**

**This chapter made me seriously think about the use of torture is to obtain information that saves thousands of lives. Are you responsible of the deaths, in a way, if you refuse to torture? But torture is morally repugnant.**

**Cresyl... I thought I had heavily foreshadowed him as a villain in chapter 7 but apparently it was subtle enough. Thank you for guessing, some ideas were great. I hadn't even thought to make Chase or Teal traitors. **

**I am in a rambling mood today xD**

**Please review.**


	20. Collateral Damage

**Thanks for your reviews as always.**

* * *

Previously

_Constantine hit the metal door so hard it rattled and bent. The hinges groaned and twisted, their shriek piercing through the boy's shout of pure rage. __They didn't break._

_They were trapped inside._

* * *

Fife slid her arms under Mags' and gently tugged her upwards. The warm contact was like a beacon in the fog. Mags grit her teeth. She willed herself to focus and to shake off the despair clawing at her. The odds were against them but all was not lost, _yet_. She wouldn't give up. _Not now, not ever_. With Fife's help, she stood up and forced her chin up.

"Don't break your hand, Constantine," Mags said before he injured himself.

Constantine reluctantly moved back. Had eyes been weapons, he would have melted the door to sludge.

"Would shooting any part of it help? Around the hinges…I don't know," Mags said, as she saw Fife pull her gun out. She found peculiar that Fife would be the calmest among them, acting skills aside.

Constantine shook his head. "Ten bullets won't suffice."

Fife then turned to Cresyl and slowly lifted the weapon. She moved up to him and wrapped a scarf loosely around his mouth. "Either you spill about how you know Mags or you're dead."

Cresyl's glare showed exactly how seriously he took that threat.

A tight smile drew itself on Fife's lips. "Did they mention who killed Ashlar? Did they mention how long I hesitated?"

The man stiffened, fear flooding his dark eyes. When he shook his head again, there was no mockery left, just resignation and… self-loathing? Mags crossed her arms. Had he grown fond of the rebels he had lied to all these years?

Fife's expression filled with pity and for a second, Mags was certain she would shoot. Instead the girl's smile melted into something sadder, and truer. "I'm from Nine, Cresyl, we have storerooms like this one. There are only ladders leading to the seventh and eighth undergrounds yet the things stored here are big and heavy. If there is no lift behind this stockpiled mess, the engineers truly were morons. This is your only chance to buy time."

Mags suddenly felt like smashing her head against the wall. She'd been a hair's breadth away from having a heart attack when they still had a good chance of making it out. She couldn't handle any more shocks like that.

"Next time, mention stuff like that, Fife," she said hoarsely. No wonder the girl hadn't panicked.

Fife shot her a quizzical glance. "Wasn't it obvious? I didn't just choose this room because it was cozy."

Mags was torn between sitting back down in sheer relief and hitting Fife.

"We didn't all grow up in District Nine," Constantine pointed out in clipped tones.

An impish grin lit Fife's face. "Lucky I did then."

Mags weakly grinned back. Some warmth flooded back through her veins. They had a way out. They could warn the rebels.

"No answers, Cresyl? Then we find the lift, wake Keane up, shoot this guy and go," Fife said, her voice only slightly breaking at the shooting part. Her face was blank again, set in an impenetrable mask.

Constantine moved towards the crates with the torchlight. He pushed a pile of metal rods off the nearest one and grabbed the top of the crate with his good hand, obviously intent on climbing the crate to get a better view of the room they were in.

A moan reached Mags' ears. She turned to Keane, relieved he'd finally regained his senses. Usually people were back up within a minute or two. The boy shook himself awake but didn't even sit up. He shot them a confused look. "What happened?"

"You lost it, tried to kill Cresyl and then almost bit Constantine's hand off. I knocked you out," Mags said with an embarrassed smile.

A groan escaped Keane's lips. "Sorry, man." He let himself drop back against the floor and tucked his knees under his chin, squeezing his eyes shut. "Forget me, just do whatever you have to do and wake me up when you leave."

"I promise," Mags said. From Fife's expression, she thought Keane had lost his mind. Mags wondered instead when the poor boy had last slept.

Mags joined Constantine on the top of his crate and wiped her tired eyes in dismay. The room was bigger than what she had thought, maybe even forty feet across, and it was packed with stuff, often up to the ceiling. Some corners seemed to have been ransacked because cords, wires, sheets made one huge bundle on the floor.

She had barely begun to force her way towards the nearest wall before Fife's whistle cut her short.

"He's ready to talk," Fife said with a tight smile.

Mags blinked. _What could Fife have said to change Cresyl's mind?_ Her heart clenched as she past Keane's curled up form. He was already asleep. The Games had sucked him dry.

Cresyl shook his head, his lips curled in a wry sneer. "I doubt this tale will make any of us happier…. Almost eleven years ago, in mid-November… It was the first cloudless day in weeks and there was only one major railway left connecting Four to the Capitol. Fourteen tracks, one huge station, ten miles from Land's End." His voice slowly grew raw with bitterness and fury. "A station then guarded by a squad of peacekeepers and two patrolling hovercrafts."

_Ten minutes won't make any difference_, Mags told herself. She had to know. If she or her father were indirectly the reason the Citadel had a spy amongst them, she had to know what they had done. She stared at him, straining her memory. A train station… she had seen so many.

"A station with a dark blue slanted roof painted to look like tiles, with tags of big-breasted sirens and colored pearls on the walls," Cresyl elaborated, his eyes lost in the distance.

Mags paled as the fog in her mind dissipated to reveal long buried memories.

"_Look at those massive boobs!" Eleven year old Lazuli said, his mouth hanging open. _

_His father slapped his outstretched arm down, his lips twitching. "Stop drooling or you'll go live with Aunt Angelites."_

"_Maybe it wouldn't be so bad," his wife muttered._

_Mags frowned, Cousin Lazuli was too big not to fight, everybody big enough had to fight. But Mags was too distracted by the naked sirens to ask her aunt about her words. She hadn't known people were allowed to paint stuff like that. It was gross._

_Blushing, Lazuli cleared his throat. "Can't we send the signal now? We got the 'crafts, we're clear."_

"_No, Lazu," Mags said with a loud huff, her hands set on her small hips, "we have to wait until the train passes the second barrier right there!"_

_Her dad put a warm hand on her head. "Thank goodness someone is paying attention."_

_A proud smile lit Mags' face. __Her heart was pounding real hard: the ground was shaking. The train was close._

"_Uncle Jasper," Ebony called._

_Mags' two eldest cousins, Ebony and Freya, had binoculars riveted on the railway station. _

"_There are people in there. We can't give the signal. It's not their fault for being there, it's their house," Ebony was speaking so fast Mags struggled to make sense of her words, "and one has binoculars too. He saw us, he knows we're here."_

"_Then we must hurry! If we don't stop the Capitol from sending weapons, they'll have the whole of Four backed against the coast. Thousands will die. If they're true rebels they'll understand," Freya said, her voice cold._

_Ebony threw the binoculars to the floor. "I hate this, why do you make me do this?"_

_Mags walked up to her and grabbed her hand. She hated to see her cousin sad. "'Cause we want to live free and better? If we don't fight then the Capitol wins. It's their fault for being so evil that we must blow up trains."_

_Ebony squeezed it back, tears running down her porcelain cheeks. "But how unfeeling must we become?"_

"_Enough to have a future," Freya said. _

_Freya was Mags' favorite. She was always sure and never sad, even if she was often angry, but she made up for it with great stories with happy endings. Mags caught a glimpse of two dark haired men in the station with the discarded binoculars before her father picked her up and ran for cover. Mags saw Freya shoot the signal rocket into the air._

_Light flared behind her closed eyes. She covered her ears just in time, pressing mightily with her hands. She hoped no one could tell she still found the explosions terrifying. A hot gust of wind pressed her harder against her father's chest. She kept very still. Everything was less scary when she was in those big arms._

_They didn't wait for the dust to settle. The train never reached the station. They had succeeded._

Mags looked down.

_Succeeded... Had they?_ How much pride could one take in a failed rebellion? Rebelling kept people's eyes open and stopped the Capitol's lies from twisting their minds beyond recognition, but had they only succeeded in reminding people of the truth of the Capitol's evil?_ And only for a time,_ she glumly thought, Achlys' terrible speech branded in her mind. When would they stop being unwilling servants and finally make their own futures, led by people they admired?

"I remember," Mags whispered, "I wish it hadn't been necessary. But how did you know our names?"

For the first time Cresyl didn't look so hostile but pain still dulled his eyes. "The trains were for district people too back then. My brother knew Freya Peregrine, and by extension your whole family, from the passenger list, because he thought she was the prettiest girl he'd seen in months, to his wife's great exasperation," his tone grew sarcastic, losing every last hint of softness, "ironic that he died seeing her face. It wasn't quick nor pretty, burns make painful lingering deaths."

Mags couldn't meet his gaze.

"You joined the Capitol to avenge your family?" Fife said, skepticism written all over her features.

Cresyl snorted. "No. The rebels had left us to die like the collateral casualties we were. The explosions had left us cripples, scarred pathetic monsters, miles away from civilization with no supplies." The man tried to sit up straighter despite his bonds. His hands were tied behind his back but his hateful glare was like a choke on Mags' neck. "Do you have any idea how much fire _hurts_? Brisa was twelve and she had to carry her screaming mother because I couldn't. Solano's feet were blistered and bleeding but he walked without a complaint. He was eight, old enough to weep at the knowledge that rebels, his_ heroes,_ had seen fit to sacrifice his whole family for the greater good." Cresyl took a deep breath, as if struggling to pursue. Mags blinked tears out of her eyes, uncertain she could bear to hear more. _Why? Why had they had to make such decisions in the hope of a fair world? Why did it have to be so hard?_

"The Capitol healed our wounds, gave us a house in the fortress city and enough money to be able to live as real citizens. It's better than anything rebels would have granted a collaborator who'd have the foolishness to beg for his family's life."

"In exchange for your services as a spy," Constantine said, his eyes burning with an indescribable expression.

Cresyl smiled mirthlessly. "Of course. Peregrine would have probably shot his daughter and committed suicide instead. I preferred to give the Capitol my loyalty in exchange for my loved ones' lives and happiness."

_Would her dad have shot her? She probably would have asked him to…._ _Could she forgive Cresyl? Did love and responsibility to one's family excuse everything? _

"Even if it kills the people whose ideals you agree with?" Mags said, feeling sick.

"_All agree that sacrifices are to be made but most people balk when they have to be the ones making great sacrifices. We have made sacrifices Mags, but not great ones, not yet, hopefully not ever," Freya had told her one night. Mags had thought she understood. She hadn't, she had been much too young to know what she was giving up. She hadn't yet lost anyone close to her.  
_

"Yes," Cresyl said without so much as a wince, "if I don't value my family's happiness above all else, who will?"

No wonder it had been so easy for Capitolites to fight: it had been mere tactics and numbers to them. Two rebels had died for each person fighting for the Capitol, but among the last, barely a tenth had been actual Capitol citizens. The city itself had been lightly bombed, but never had the fight reached the Capitol's gates, although there had been rumors of an early peacekeeper revolt.

"No-one," Fife agreed somberly, "Mags, we should go now. Do you have a way to reliably knock him out so he cannot harm the rebels at all until this is finished or must I shoot him?"

Mags met Fife's wary eyes. Mags couldn't kill Cresyl. Not because he was a human being, he was dangerous enough to warrant killing. Hell, he was probably one of the most dangerous people in this part of District Three. No, Mags couldn't kill him because she needed to show the Capitol that she could be swayed in her convictions and give them the 'I was wrong to be a rebel' speech they would demand of her. The mere thought was repulsive, yet she now knew she would never achieve anything without giving the Capitol some ground. She'd known for months she would have to lie but she had never been so acutely aware that her integrity had become a bargaining chip.

"Let's find the lift while I think," she said. "How long would it take to un-weld the door?"

"You can't," Fife replied, "you'd have to smash it down."

_Good_. They'd simply have to block the lift to make sure no one could rescue Cresyl in time.

It took them almost an hour, they had made the mistake of checking the walls before the center of the large room and they hadn't counted on expert camouflage. The lift was a ten foot wide square platform - of a very similar color to the floor - loaded with crates, and only a single lever on the side. Needless to say, with their single torchlight and the room crammed enough to burst, they were lucky Constantine had almost literally walked into it. From up close they noticed a smaller lever on the platform itself. Fife double checked the map to make sure they would not lose themselves in the Citadel once below.

"Does it work?" Keane asked glumly. He looked like he'd rather still be sleeping.

Mags glared at him. They were all exhausted and his mood was dangerously catching. "Could you please not get us all depressed?"

Keane met her gaze, his bushy eyebrows rising at her words. His glare darkened and his face flushed with outrage, making Mags regret her lack of tact. He flipped her off. "Shoot me," he spat.

Constantine had him by the collar and set him on the platform before Mags could react. Mags grabbed Constantine's arm painfully when she realized his intent, but she wasn't strong enough to stop him.

He slammed the lever down. The lift, with Keane on it, all but dropped fifteen feet.

Fife's hands flew to her mouth. "Still alive, Keane?" She called as soon as she found her voice.

"So, does it work?" Constantine said in falsely polite tones.

"Goodness gracious, Constantine," Mags hissed, "stop overreacting like that."

The aristocratic boy straightened, an offended righteous expression tightening his features. "I know you can defend yourself but he was quite rude. And he_ bit_ my hand."

Fife snickered besides her. Mags cuffed Constantine on the shoulder, hard.

"Oy, Keane," Fife said, worry still creasing her features, "Come on, answer."

"It works, you nutjobs," Keane called from below, his tone a clear indicator of what he thought of their stunt.

Fife cheered. She slung her backpack back and expectantly turned to Constantine.

Constantine nodded towards where Cresyl still was attached. "What about him?"

"Just leave him," Mags muttered, "we'll break the lift to avoid anyone getting him out too fast."

Fife's relief was palpable.

On the second try, Constantine managed to give the platform a reasonable speed. He then used a triangular-shaped metal instrument to jam the lever in place and toppled the contents of the nearest full crate over it.

After a few minutes, taking big breaths, he moved back to admire his handiwork. He stumbled. "I feel ill," he said, bringing his hands to his head, "it's sudden, nausea and…my head…"

Mags frowned, coming to think of it, she felt light-headed and her heart was beating abnormally high. Yet the air smelt clean although the Citadel's airflow system was much stronger than what she remembered. She tied her hair back to keep her hair from flying into her eyes and mouth. Her thoughts felt sluggish, she wondered if it was lack of sleep.

They shared worried glances. Mags voiced her discomfort in a low voice, hating to whine. After a loaded pause, Fife's face suddenly lost all color. "That criminal bastard! Carbon monoxide, it fits… Just run, just follow me out!"

_Carbon monoxide?  
_

Fear sizzled through Mags' whole body as she realized the cool wind brushing her face was more lethal than all the fumes fouling the ruins above. She struggled not to give in to her burning lungs and breathe hard or to cede to panic and surpass Fife in a foolish burst of speed. She didn't even pause to look around, her eyes fixed on her feet and her hand clinging onto Fife's for dear life, desperately hoping the girl knew where she was going. Her mind replaced the indistinct shades at the border of her vision with corpses.

The Citadel's gates were open. Mags smiled, not daring herself to breathe in too deeply just yet. There was no one there, just a sentinel bird.

Fife all but pulled it into a hug.

"We know who betrayed you, we know how, we know that they know about the underground train tunnel since at least an hour ago and we need to talk to Sylvan or Chickaree, now!" Fife said, shaking the robot as if it would make it work better.

"We're all here?" Mags said, turning around. Keane and Constantine looked nauseous but alert.

The bird suddenly moved, leading them towards one of the tunnels. They ran after it. When Mags' headache didn't worsen, she laughed, letting herself breathe again. The robot abruptly stopped, rebels moved in to greet them.

Mags' smile fell when she saw their fearsome expressions. The enormity of what had transpired suddenly hit her. Carbon monoxide in the Citadel, enough to poison in minutes, to kill in less than an hour, carbon monoxide in the middle of the night when everyone was asleep. Had Cresyl engineered all this alone? How many were dead? Whole families, the rebels' last bastion…Mags' mouth refused to close, as if her brain couldn't process the information.

A bald man stepped forward and ripped the pike from her hands. Another took Constantine's sword before he could struggle. "Lock them in."

"Wait!" Constantine began, "we –"

"Shut up and follow us," a man snapped, the vein in his neck pulsing dangerously as his teeth came inches from Mags' nose. "I'd kill you right now, Cestoda-toys. Nexus is dead because of you. Mayhap all this happened 'cause of you. I don't care how decent deep down you are. Feel lucky I have to check with the Captain first."

Mags face darkened further at the mention of Teal's husband. Had there been no tributes, Will would not have lost his mind at the sight of death and Teal and Nexus would still be happy together, but Cresyl's actions had little to do with them. Mags nevertheless froze and lifted her hands in surrender, closely followed by Constantine. Fife had already done so. Their lives hung by a thread. There was no reasoning with people mad with grief. _Killed by rebels. _Mags absolutely refused to die like that. Horror filled her face when she saw Keane's furious expression.

"He's dead because of _us_?" Keane exploded, "He's dead because of the Capitol. That's like saying the Hunger Games are your fault because you did such a half-assed job at rebelling!"

A gunshot ripped the air. Fife screamed.

Keane fell to his knees, blood rapidly staining his vest. He slumped down on the floor, his forehead hitting the stone with a sickening crack.

"He said shut up," the woman holding the gun said, her eyes ablaze with warning.

Constantine wrapped a tense arm around Mags' waist, tightening the other around a now sobbing Fife, and forced them away from the corpse. They were led into the bunker up to a small barred room without incident, but Mags could taste bloodthirst in the air. She was afraid she would snap with every step and even more afraid one of the rebels would forget their discipline and follow their misleading gut instinct and shoot them too. Still under shock, Mags was suddenly afraid for Lila.

"Fix, Teal, anyone who doesn't hate us, we must find a way to send word," Constantine said once the rebels had slammed the door shut.

Mags let herself fall on the single mattress, still struggling to process the night's events. Cresyl, the gaz, and _Keane_. Why Keane? Why like this?

"I still have my gun," Fife muttered, as she furiously wiped her tear-stained cheeks. She was still shaking but her face was flushed with anger, not panic.

Mags still had her knives but the rebels had taken their backpacks. She resisted the urge to kick the door or scream. Instead she tried to imitate the way Constantine was regulating his breathing.

"Rest as much as you can. We'll find a way," she said, her voice a hoarse promise.


	21. Rescue

**Thanks for all the feedback on the last chapter. Each review brightens my day.**

* * *

Sleep wouldn't come.

Mags' ears were still ringing from the gunshot as the three huddled together on the bed, their eyes fixed on a door that wouldn't open. It was too thick to even hear passing steps. They were buried underground, at the mercy of now hostile rebels who considered them symbols of the Capitol's rule. Keane was dead, _dead._ The first of the last surviving tributes to die. Lila, Styx, Delphin, maybe Robin, and them. The others were mere memories, lives snuffed out before they had had the opportunity to leave a true mark. Mags caught her sleep-deprived brain fantasizing about single-handedly putting an end to the Hunger Games and blinked back tears.

The three tributes exchanged furtive glances, their mouths opening for an instant and then closing once more as words died before they left their throats. Even Mags couldn't bring herself to talk about it. Who would be next? _Killed by rebels._ The Capitol had to delight in the irony.

Fife's voice finally broke the silence. "They wouldn't be counting on the Capitol digging us out, right?"

Mags folded her arms over her stomach, trying to get warmer. "Sylvan wouldn't let us rot here," she finally said, more confident than she actually felt. Her thoughts were both sluggish and frantic. Stress combined with lack of sleep was make her unreliable, yet her body stubbornly refused to use this opportunity to recuperate.

"That's if he knows," Fife said, snuggling closer against Constantine. "What do you think the Capitol is doing against the explosion?" She said.

Constantine's gaze didn't stray from the door. Mags didn't have to ask what, or _who_, he was thinking about. She'd never thought it would end like this, them in the middle of the last great fight between the Capitol and the surviving rebels. An artificial arena, gratuitous cruelty and pointless deaths, these she had steeled herself for, but this was so distressingly _real. _Mags' eyes fell to the bump in Fife's coat, the gun. She could overpower Fife easily right now. Fife was dangerous. Fife wanted to survive and would pull that trigger. Mags could shoot them both.

"Evacuating the population, cutting off the critical zone from the rest with force fields," Constantine said after a pause, his smooth voice ripping at her tenuous strands of hope.

_Force fields_. They were so ridiculously outmatched on every front.

"It can't be just that… I mean, that won't make the rebels look bad," Fife muttered, "it'll show they still could succeed."

"Ten years of planning and less of a quarter of the Capitol destroyed and with little to no casualties; isn't it enough, Fife?" Mags said, crushing disappointment choking her voice as she tore her eyes away from Fife's gun. "They'll just heighten taxes and blame it on those _incompetent and morally vile_ rebels."

And they'd repeat it loudly enough and often enough that people would start believing it. Minutes felt like hours in the chill as Mags searched for solutions that didn't exist.

It could not have been more than a quarter hour when a rumble alerted her senses. She stiffened.

A rolling wave of incredible force slammed against the walls, throwing the teenagers against each other. The single bed groaned as wood splintered and springs twisted. Chips fell off the reinforced ceilings and onto their exposed skins as a death flare born in the Capitol's depths roared and struggled against the bonds containing it miles from where they lay. The very foundations of the bunker groaned, tested by an explosion of unmatched ferocity.

The rebels' bomb had gone off. Tons of dynamite, right under the Capitol.

Desperate the _rebel engineering _which Cresyl had mentioned would not prove defective, Mags could do no more than shield her pounding ears. The noise of every collapse was amplified tenfold in the old train tunnel, ramming into the bunker walls with a force that seemed to rival that of the ignited dynamite hungrily digging its way up to the fortress-city.

Teeth clenched and muscles tense, Mags hoped that despite Cresyl's revelations, the Capitol had been caught unprepared.

She almost fell on the floor when Constantine stood up. Unheard in the chaos, the door had been slammed open, revealing a known figure. Mags brightened in relief, her exhaustion temporarily forgotten. Fix gestured to follow him. Tense focus had replaced the easy smile he'd worn when Sylvan had introduced him. A broad man with a large tattooed head and a badly scarred nose stood right behind him. He had a nasty-looking large drill in his right hand, and his expression was all but reassuring. Mags nervousness decreased when Fix pecked the man's cheek before leading them away in the empty corridor. Fix had an electronic detector in his right hand. Mags hoped it would be enough against the robots.

"Where's Lila?" Mags said, almost screaming in Fix's ear to be heard over the noise.

"Gone," Fix gasped, forcing himself not to slow, "with that memory of hers she'll find her way."

Mags soon discovered there were multiple entries into the bunker. In minutes, red-faced and panting, their muscles burning from strain, they were back in the seventh underground. Mags had kept very fit ever since she'd been a child, but she now feared that she had been too easy on herself. Her lungs seemed unable to inhale enough air, she could barely think.

She checked that her scarf was well in place. "They monitor lip movement thanks to cameras in our eyes," she shouted between gasps as Fix helped her up the ladder.

The young man's grip tightened abruptly on her arm. He gave a brusque nod. "Skylar, go make sure they have their masks on and put yours on."

His boyfriend acquiesced and ran to a nearby room as they waited for Fife and Constantine to finish climbing the ladder. The noise was slowly decreasing. Mags put a hand to her head, hoping it would stop spinning.

"Who's they?" Fife eagerly asked. "And you're awesome, Fix."

Fix flashed her a toothy smile and ran a hand through his short hair in exaggerated slow motion "I know, darling." He then shot Constantine an envious look. "I so wish I'd have been allowed to have hair at least your length, who ever found crew cuts sexy?"

Constantine took a step back, looking ill at ease. "Please don't call me _sexy_, even indirectly."

Fix's grin broadened. "Relax, it's not contagious and I'm faithful to my man." He winked. "But you're still blinking hot."

Mags fought to keep a straight face as Constantine colored. Her small smile froze, remembering that Fix was from the bunker, not the Citadel. No wonder he was less affected and could still muster enough strength to be humorous. Her chest constricted painfully. She couldn't imagine what state Chickaree had to be in. Mags still couldn't believe it_. A whole population_….

"Fix, move it!"

Fix winced and dropped his voice to a theatrical -for still quite loud- whisper. "Boyfriend calls, he's much more serious than I am. We should follow."

_Boyfriend_ could probably lift Constantine off the ground without breaking a sweat. Masked with his arms crossed at a corridor junction, Skylar glared at Fix. "Stop fooling around." His expression wasn't half as hostile as his tone.

Mags eyed the huge drill warily. What was it for? Surely Skylar did not intend to use it as a crowbar.

Fix rolled his eyes, a smile still dancing on his lips as he pulled his own mask on. "We're always in deep shit, one way of another. Gotta find fun where I can…"

Skylar moved aside. Mags' face split into a smile as she recognized Teal and Chickaree. She could barely make out their expressions, but she longed to reach out, to somehow make things better. She was so glad there were people who didn't believe the world was better off with her dead.

Chickaree had walked up to Fife almost as swiftly as Constantine had reached Teal's side. "Who was it?" The woman asked, her grip white on Fife's arm; even through the mask, the raw pain in her voice make Mags want to sob.

"Cresyl. The Capitol saved his family's life ten years ago in exchange for his loyalty." Fife steadied Chickaree, cradling the shaken woman in her arms as she stumbled. "I'm so sorry. He's probably dead from the carbon monoxide, we were right above the Citadel. I'm so sorry, Chickaree" Fife repeated, her eyes shining with tears.

"I should've seen. There were so many clues… I… How could we not see it! He spent so long with the peacekeeper, he insisted to be in charge of airflow maintenance, he was always such a pessimist, but never too much…Now…" Chickaree's voice was a pitiful croak. "We all failed… they're all…it's over."

Mags couldn't hear what Fife said next. The words were like a knife in her gut. _It's over_. Mags silently watched as the once proud rebel sobbed into Fife's arms. Fix met Mags' eyes, mirroring her own helplessness. _Except he has someone to hold on to._ Mags shivered from the cold, feeling terribly alone. Who would ever understand back home?

"We found out the Capitol knew mere minutes after you did," Teal said after a heavy pause, "they sent a message through one of the birds, saying they'd evacuated the streets and put one thousand avoxes in Elysium Avenue. That we'd kill them, and almost only them, if we went through with the plan."

"You people still did it?" Fife said, horror etched in her face. Mags' shock grew as she noticed that the other rebels looked just as stunned.

Teal dropped her stare to the floor and clutched her hands together, almost bodily turning away from them. "They weren't told. Lila broke the screen before the message was even over. It was past three am, the two of us were alone on watch. I told the Captain and he agreed to take sole responsibility." Her voice fell to a whisper. "I thought it would be better…"

Fife seemed to tighten her hold on the aghast Chickaree. "Well, anyone smart will know the Capitol forced the avoxes there, it's their fault," Fife said after a pause.

"You had to do it," Constantine said, gently lifting Teal's chin, "it was the right decision. The Capitol would have killed tens of thousands had you left the dynamite to them. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

_One thousand_ avoxes, some were real criminals, many were rebels and many more even simply desperate people who had gotten on the wrong side of peacekeepers. Mags shook her head, unable to be as categorical as Constantine. The Capitol would just start avoxing petty misdoers if they lacked slaves. Only the argument about dynamite had made her pause, because he was right.

_What could they do that would truly undermine the Capitol's power?_ When Mags had seen the Citadel, her hopes of a swift rebellion had been rekindled. Now, she knew with cold certainty it would be decades before they would have a chance. They needed the Capitol to make a mistake, to grow complacent. She doubted that would happen under Evadne Achlys' rule.

"We were sent down here to provide the Capitol with images of rebels, so they could interpret them in a convenient way," Mags began, forcing herself to speak of the hijacked citizens dressed as Scavengers and of the terrible words the hovercraft had broadcasted. As she talked, she could see the rebels' expressions harden with each sentence, horror and fury slowly deforming their traits.

"Propaganda and mind alteration, why change things that work?" Chickaree spat, "they'll have their hounds flushing the sewers within the hour. We must escape through the mountains, where we are safe from hovercrafts."

"We'll cover you," Constantine said, his eyes never straying for Teal's face. "What weapons do you have, aside blades?"

Chickaree laughed; a fragmented laugh thick with desperation. "Less than a dozen handguns from the Citadel. Sylvan has a supply of grenades and a few automatics, including rifles; enough to equip thirty, maybe fifty men."

Teal shook her head. "Hit and run, ambush and sabotage, assassination attempts, these we could do; but a pitched battle? It's insane." She put a hand to her belt. "Skylar and I have firearms. Come on, Auntie, we must go."

"Did you separate from the main group just for our sake?" Fife asked, her arm still linked in Chickaree's.

"Do you ever stop asking questions?" The woman replied, her eyes softening slightly as she eyed the short tribute.

"They lost it," Fix answered, "Garnet reasoned that the traitor had to be among the Citadel group that had spent the night talking strategy with Sylvan, safe in the bunker, so everyone got all paranoid and then someone shouted it had to be a leader. Chickaree's name was thrown in and everyone started screaming and pulling weapons because a spooked guy tried to leave and got shot by one of the twitchier Citadel people."

Mags paled as she imagined the bloody chaos that had to have ensued Chickaree's escape. Some would take that as a proof of her treachery.

"So we _kidnapped_ Auntie and figured we'd check the cells just in case," Teal said. She flashed Constantine a tight smile. "I owe you one and we got wind of your message. I left my brother in law to inform the Lieutenant."

The aristocratic boy bowed. "I will forever be in your debt."

A half smile broke Mags' lips. She ached to ask if Chickaree and Teal had plans to meet with Sylvan or if it was everyone for themselves until they regrouped in the mountains, but it was too dangerous for her to know.

When they reached the sixth level, the electronic detectors went haywire. Mags started, catching her balance on the wall.

It _moved. _

She screamed in fright as a small robot wriggled from under her hand. The torchlights revealed dozens of the thumbnail-sized machines, never more than three feet apart littering the sewer walls.

"Scramblers, someone?" Fife said in a small voice.

"Ears," Skylar warned, lowering the huge drill from his shoulder.

Mags covered her head, wondering once more what he could possibly expect to achieve with a _drill_.

Mags instinctively jumped as the machine roared to life. The muscular rebel drove the spinning drill-head into the wall. His shoulder muscles bulged as he put all his weight on the tool. He groaned, his whole body shaking as if he was subduing a buckling horse. A crack appeared as the whole surface rippled, like a pinched elastic band.

Tiny legs twitching, the robots lost their grip, falling one by one on the floor.

Skylar squashed the nearest one with his shoe and tutted. "Poor adherence on vertical humid surface. Making the wall resonate shakes them off."

Resonate? Like the sea wind turbines that vibrated to the point of shattering when the waves got too high? Mags had never thought she would ever see a wall ripple. Her lips twitched in awe. It was insane, but the fun kind for once.

"I'd kiss you," Fix said, gesturing at his mask in dismay.

"How did you meet, Fix?" Constantine politely inquired as they set off again, doubtless to make up for his previous stiffness.

_"_Skylar was one of the pilots that patrolled around Thirteen, sneaking around the Capitol's perimeter. I was one of the lucky fugitives. Sky was sixteen, didn't look twice me." Fix tightened his grip on his boyfriend, his voice warm. "Puberty did its job properly."

So the man was an able pilot. Mags smiled, liking what that meant for the groups' chances. Besides, they were adorable.

"Less talk, more speed," Chickaree ordered. Her gray eyes were blazing with a hate that promised eternal torment to any who would seek to challenge her. "You went to the surface yesterday, can you lead?"

"Sure," Fife said, "follow me."

Mags breathed in deeply as they started running. She hoped nothing else had collapsed since the day before and that her screaming legs would not give up on her before she was safe. The small robots were fewer and Constantine theorized they had been massively on the sixth level to monitor escapees. Despite Fife's protests about the amount of noise Skylar was making, the man continued making every wall they encountered resonate, both on the paths they were taking and on the nearby ones, assuring them that running past the camera-equipped robots would give the Capitol 'hounds' their exact location, whereas the noise would just give the peacekeepers a very approximate location.

"But what if there are GPS on the cameras in our eyes?" Mags said when they paused at yet another crossroads. She was now desperate to leave the stifling underground.

Fix almost whacked her with the electronics detector. "Your cameras send signals, a GPS would _receive_ them. We can tell the difference."

Mags nodded, more upset with each passing day at being so uneducated. How could she expect to beat the Capitol if she didn't understand their technology?

They were still in the sewer depths when they heard echoes. Faraway steps. Mags' eyes dropped on Fife's gun once more. Tired or not, she had to make a decision and make it fast. She had thrown grenades that had murdered over two dozens of hijacked citizen and Scavengers. She knew how to kill, she had promised her family. She had no excuse. She had to do this.

"Can we outrun them for three levels?" Teal asked, her gun already out. "We must find another ladder."

Mags looked away from the gun. How could she kill Constantine in front of Teal? Fife was holding onto Chickaree again. Or maybe it was the other way around...

"We must stay quiet. Those filthy crawlers must have mapped everything during the night and they'll get us caught," Fix said, his voice so cold that Mags started. She almost hadn't recognize him, "we can ambush the hounds here. It's narrow and they depend on the maps. They'll be slow and get lost if they panic."

"They don't have real time guidance through headphones or something?" Mags said in a small voice. Ambushing an unknown number of peacekeepers sounded like a terrible idea to her.

Fix shook his head, his expression more chilling than Cresyl's dark laughter had been.

_Those who came here too young are always a little crazy, _Sylvan had said. How thin was the line between hardened and broken? She wondered what the mirror would reveal when she came back home. _If_ she came back. She swallowed, trying to calm herself.

"We got the reserve scrambler working again," Chickaree explained, clutching a small grenade. "They'll counter it within a day and it's less powerful than the old one, but we have their radio frequencies blocked."

That explained why no dog robots had come to trail them. The Capitol was stuck again with no sound. Still, Mags felt like an archer defending a castle from cannons and riflemen.

"Just give us a chance," Fife said. She ran up to Constantine and removed his mask, soon whispering rapidly in his ear.

Constantine's eyes widened. Mags wished she could see more of his face. She could never tell with Fife's plans whether they were truly brilliant solutions or born of the girl's hate of physical conflict and terror of death. The aristocratic boy finally nodded in assent.

"Take parallels," he told Teal, "we'll distract them and meet with you on the first level. In any case, you won't be able to exit through any of the regular exit routes, so walk east, where there are many collapsed walls to climb."

"We won't wait for you more than a half hour," Skylar said after a pause.

"We understand," Mags immediately replied. She hoped her tone conveyed how little she wanted them to risk their lives for her. Cowardice was the only thing that stopped from asking them not to wait at all. A childish part of her still dreamed to leave everything behind and escape with them, far from the Capitol and its inhuman games.

"Go, Teal," Constantine whispered as the two rebel women hesitated. Mags doubted any woman could be oblivious to the brazier lighting his deep eyes. She wondered why Fate had such a twisted sense of humor. Chickaree gave them a half bow before turning her torch off and disappearing into a narrower parallel conduct.

Fife squeezed Mags' hand as soon as they were alone. "Just do like with Atli. Keep quiet and let us do the talking. If the peacekeepers are from District One, it will be easy."

_That was one big if. And evenso, Constantine couldn't know all of District One's law enforcement._

"District Two has quarries, their peacekeepers are doubtless better suited for underground mazes and Constantine doesn't know them," Mags objected.

Fife's hand was on her gun. The moment to overpower her had passed. Again.

"District One has many burglaries, especially in South Sector, the Artisans' Sector," Constantine said. "Our people are trained to track down armed professional bandits. Those often take the sewers. My mother has trained every one of her officers and elite rankers, they are the best people for this job."

"What rank is she?" Fife said.

"Colonel. There are three, one for Southern Sector, one for the Northern and one who oversees all peacekeeper training. They report to General Makhai in the Capitol, as do the five colonels of District Two."

The aristocratic boy looked so certain... With no arguments left, Mags squeezed Fife's hand back, stress almost paralyzing her body. She hoped the peacekeepers had orders to capture tributes alive. "Throw the masks away then, they'll take them otherwise," she said tightly, regretting they had not thought to give them to the others.

Fife paled. Constantine complied after a moment's hesitation. He gently removed Fife's. The girl brought her trembling hands to her scarf, as if she physically couldn't bring herself to breathe.

Mags was suddenly acutely aware of each breath entering her lungs, of the off-taste of the ambient air. She wanted to hug Fife, to tell her it was alright. She didn't. She needed Fife dead. Mags clenched her fists painfully, aware these were maybe the last blood-free memories she would have of her companions.

After a few seconds, Fife crossed her arms and gave them a tense smile. "I'm good._"_

Mags forced herself to smile back. Her eyes lingered on the discarded masks_. _Her throat constricted as a sense that she was being criminally petty entered her mind. Mags let her own scarf slip slightly so that her lips could be seen by the others' eye-cameras. _  
_

"Bring the masks. The peacekeepers could use them. There's no point in poisoning them," she said.

The other two threw her mystified looks. Constantine picked up the three masks, a frown creasing his brow.

The rhythmic steps were more distinct with every passing second, definitely peacekeepers. Constantine lead the way, not quite stomping his feet.

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**Author's Note**

**Please review^^.**

**The next chapter will be in Constantine's POV. There will be a last chapter in Fife's POV before the end of the Games.**


	22. Last stand

**Sorry for the delay in posting. I hope you enjoy this. It's long, it's full of action, so I hope it isn't confusing.**

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**Constantine's point of view.**

Constantine stole a backwards glance at his allies and repressed an indulgent smile at Mags' skeptical expression. Did she really believe he was entrusting their lives to chance?

Fife had asked him if his mother had the power to influence which peacekeepers would await the surfacing rebels and whether he knew the officers well enough to make a difference. The answer was not 'maybe' but 'undoubtedly so'. Her mother didn't influence. Colonel Selene Aquila _ordered._ Even the Capitol did not pretend to know better than the colonels which men were better suited to a mission. The colonels of the four quadrants owned District One in all but name, and whereas District Two held the official peacekeeper training centers, their forces had been in the front line during the Dark Days and had suffered such crippling losses that One would provide the majority of the Capitol's law enforcement for at least another five years.

Once, such knowledge would have filled Constantine with pride. Now, as the peacekeeper's footsteps grew closer, he felt only confusion and bubbling shame. It was a degrading feeling, one he hated, but he would be cowardly to dismiss it. Truth had more value than false comfort and the truth was that the rebels they had met were being at this very moment demonized and tracked down by the very men and women his mother had trained. Not exclusively of course, and the people of District One had been lied to by the Capitol just as much as anyone else, but peacekeepers had eyes and had been born with the ability to reason and yet they sided with their overlords.

_As did you._

Constantine glowered at the insolent imaginary voice. He had never reported anyone for rebellious words.

_But you believed that a man's condition was a measure of his character. You saw a world in which those of limited ability worked for the deserving. You found it acceptable and saw what you wanted to see. You were just as blind as Cereus said and more._

And if he came out of the Games victorious, he would have to return to his oblivious opulent life or condemn himself and his family to swift repercussions. Unlike for the common folk, there was no tolerance for dissent among those as powerful as he. He was disgusted by the mere thought. It would be no life.

Constantine stared at the tunnels ahead. One single echo for each step, an echo that concealed at the very least five footfalls in perfect synchronicity, and not a single whisper. Elite squads. A ghost of a smile quirked Constantine's lips as he would be sure to know the officer in charge, but ice seeped in his veins at the thought of One's most skilled and dependable men on Teal's tracks. The night would not shield the rebels as well as they had hoped. Constantine swallowed, squaring his shoulders and donning his customary mark of superior indifference. Whatever his life choice would be, he would be a tool and separated forever from the woman he loved. And if he lived, she would despise him for the role he'd have consented to play.

He turned to Mags, stopping her and Fife with a look.

Death before dishonor; he would not be a coward. There was only one course of action left, but he had to give Fife the noble death she deserved.

Light flooded in the sewers as the squad appeared. Constantine eyebrows shot to his hairline as he recognized the man in officer black and gold**. **He didn't know whether to laugh or weep. In his mid-thirties and fit enough to put Constantine to shame, the man's set expression and piercing eyes had the unfailing ability to make one question their worth, but today it strengthened Constantine's resolve. Mags would win.

Sergeant Valerian Fletcher was one of the few people who Constantine would never consider killing, not even for Teal. Valerian had been the first adult, aside from his parents, to treat him like he deserved instead of flattering him, either out of fear of his name or to garner favor. Constantine had hated the man with a passion until he had become old enough to see that Valerian had done him a great favor.

Constantine's eyes narrowed and his relief evaporated as he took in the squad's equipment. The five men and single woman wore thick leather footwear and steel-silk gloves, customary for high risk missions, but neither helmets, shields, nor assault weapons. They had steel batons, Tasers, tranquilizer guns and obvious soporific gas grenades in their belt-pockets, but no lethal weapons. This alone told Constantine that the Capitol had orchestrated a new show, one where the law enforcement would be portrayed as the 'good guys,' shot by rebel terrorists armed with guns who were too evil to accept the Capitol's _fair_ peace offers. The peacekeepers would suffer more casualties but ultimately prevail and the Capitol would further destroy the people's respect and faith in the rebels.

_Theatrics and heinous lies_. Constantine felt like he was trudging through thick sewage, filth tainting everything around him, and was expected to pretend that nothing was wrong.

From Valerian's stony expression, the man was not oblivious to the political undercurrents of his mission. His people stopped as one as he raised his hand.

"Good morning, Aquila. It seems the babysitting role befalls us, guys. Follow me to the surface."

Constantine felt Mags grasp his upper arm and almost raised his eyebrows at the blatant manipulation attempt. It worked, for Valerian's jaw clenched. Doubtless the man felt it was his duty to bring Constantine home but Constantine could not allow that. He briefly met Mags' determined, almost frantic, gaze. He had seen how she had looked at Fife in the last hours and was proud that she trusted him to do the right thing. He squeezed her hand briefly, making a point to meet Valerian's tight eyes.

One of the peacekeepers muttered a few words –something about regrouping- in his communicator. The three tributes were soon surrounded by the squad.

"These masks are for you, Sergeant," Constantine said, "We will not need them but you might stay here a while."

Valerian barely blinked as he took the equipment. He gestured to the scarred woman and two of the men and wordlessly handed them the masks.

"Thoughtful of you," he then said.

"It was Mags' idea," Constantine acknowledged.

He was watching Fife this time, and knew he had not imagined the darkness crossing her face. She was painfully aware that the odds were not in her favor. He hoped she would not be reckless with her gun. As long as there were other surviving tributes to become the Capitol's victor, Valerian would kill her for shooting him and brave the consequences. Constantine suddenly found he could not meet the short girl's gaze. The thought of orchestrating her death brought bile to his throat. What a waste of life. Yet waiting for a humane solution would condemn not only them but also Mags and ultimately Panem itself.

"And then what, Sir?" Fife said as they headed towards the surface, her tone very deferential.

"If you lack inspiration, the gamemakers will give you directives," Valerian tersely replied, "don't lack inspiration. For now, we are not to interfere with the Games."

Constantine noticed the slight ironic inflection on the last word. He was familiar with the bland tone Valerian used. The Capitol had made one mistake: no one in the elite squads had less than eight years of service, so the squad leaders were people who preferred demanding field operations to more comfortable, and lucrative, administrative positions. They were very close to their men and loathed being sacrificed to strengthen the illusions of high-powered civilians who had never set foot on a battlefield.

"The gamemakers are here?" Mags blurted, tightening her hold on Constantine's arm.

"No, but they will be easily heard," Valerian answered, his voice crisp as dry wood, "You'll soon see."

They reached the surface without another spoken word. Constantine shivered as the early morning cold clung to his very bones. Any hint of dawn was masked by the surrounding mountains. Constantine searched the ruins for a sign of rebel movement. He found none, but the surface was far from quiet: men and machines scurried about like ants, blocking every access and investigating each suspicious shadow. Overhead, the noxious fumes diffused the light beams of the low-flying hovercrafts into bright glowing spheres as they slithered around like buzzing metal detectors hungry for scraps. The Capitol was out in force. There were maybe two hundred peacekeepers and thrice as many robots, and Constantine didn't doubt more were on their way.

He hoped Teal and the others would have the intelligence not to linger. He locked the searing feeling of loss in a dark corner of his psyche and focused back on the present. He was all too aware of the ensnaring lull of wishful thinking.

"What is that?" Fife said, her head snapping towards the sky.

Before Constantine could follow her gaze, a light as blinding as it was sudden assaulted his senses. His eyes painfully adapted. A large hovercraft bearing the Capitol's flags had come to a stop thirty feet above them, casting large cones of light on the ground.

"They're here," Mags whispered, "we're all here."

Constantine squinted as he willed his eyes to adapt. Indeed, spotlights revealed Styx twenty yards away, stoic as always, standing beside Delphin, who looked as if he was itching to flee and hide in a hole, a knife clumsily clutched in his hand. Less than fifteen yards away, Lila glared at the hovercraft. The all-consuming hate on the dark-skinned girl's face was so palpable that the peacekeepers guarding her had taken a step back. Constantine met her eyes and lifted a hand in brief salute. He made sure his expression could not be misinterpreted as hostile or mocking. Lila's loathing and staunch refusal to help the Capitol would prove useful.

The sewers below their feet were not silent for long. With no warning, shots tore through the night. Constantine instinctively ducked, his eardrums begging for some respite. The dozen peacekeepers watching the crevice left by the crashed hovercraft of the day before had all fallen by the time Constantine forced his head back up. It had been less than two seconds. Too many weapons, this wasn't Teal's group.

Two pyramid-shaped grenades sailed for the nearest hovercraft, revealing claw like appendages which fastened to the hull.

"Patrol Three, scatter and regroup on me," a woman bellowed as the peacekeepers within a twenty yard radius of the hovercraft scrambled for cover.

The grenades exploded. A storm of fire rose like a vengeful pagan god of old, roaring in the night like a beast left unfed for too long. Valerian and his men remained unmoving, stiff and solid as reefs who had survived greater tempests. Constantine's eyes narrowed in compassion as he saw Fife's trembling form. Why couldn't the reaped tributes all have been mediocre? All would have been so much simpler.

Constantine's heart almost stopped when he realized that they would now be corpses had the most volatile toxic components of the ruins not been consumed the day before. Had that also been part of the Capitol's plan?

"We've got Wickers on line of sight! Sector Five-three-five!"

The communicator announcement had the effect of an electroshock. Except for the squads guarding the tributes, all the peacekeepers marched as one, converging on the location, not far away from where the grenades had been thrown, as soon as the flames had dissipated. Constantine gently untangled himself from Mags' grasp and stepped close enough to Valerian to see the small razor-cuts on his cheeks. He slipped his family ring in Valerian's hand, running his thumb over the familiar eagle crest one last time.

"I need Mags Abalone to win. Panem is ill and the Capitol is the virus. This isn't a government attempting to be just but who understandably has flaws. They will warp our minds with their lies and discard us like old tools once they have bled us dry. I will not be their puppet. These rebels are soldiers who deserve our respect." Constantine inhaled sharply, now worried for all of the people he would leave behind in One. "Stay away from the Capitol's gaze or you will become a slave."

Valerian's head almost jerked to the side. His voice was smooth when he answered, but the three seconds pause was worth a thousand shouts.

"Where is the boy who tried to have me disgraced for having defeated him fairly?"

_Fairly?_ Constantine almost spluttered at Valerian's offensive euphemism.

There had been nothing fair about that sparring match. Constantine had been armed, Valerian had not, and after the first swift and merciless defeat at the older man's hands, Constantine had not held back with his sword, regardless of how lethally proficient he already was. It had been his mother's idea of a lesson in humility. Valerian had held Constantine's head against the dusty floor after the boy's third pathetic defeat and whispered that a child became a man when he could accept defeat and learn from it. Constantine had remained a child for quite a while.

A new explosion ripped through the landscape. Constantine forced his muscles under lock-down, refusing to bow to the instincts urging him to flee and turned his eyes on the battlefield. A score of rebels, entrenched behind collapsed walls and houses, masked and armed to the teeth, fought one against five, pressing their advantage until their ammunition ran out with the ferocity of caged beasts. Some rebels were stumbling, their hands raised to their throats as the soporific agents somehow found a way through the masks._ Filth_. The rebels killed or wounded ten for each of their fallen, but it was a race against a terrible clock.

"I was blind," Constantine said, his voice trembling with anger. "A lucid person who can bear living in Panem and follow Capitol law is a monster. I was blind, Valerian," he repeated, "please shield Mags."

Constantine hated the desperation that had crept into his voice. He hoped Valerian's loyalty to his country surpassed his loyalty to his colonel, to Constantine's mother, and yet Constantine knew that the man saw beyond the rules. It was his sister who had adopted little Leo.

Valerian's blue eyes cut deeper than steel as they searched the aristocratic boy's soul. Constantine held his gaze. He was not being impulsive, he knew exactly what he was saying. There were things more important than his life.

Constantine had seen objectively little, but he had seen enough. This was not a world he wanted to live in. There was no pride to be had and he would never see Teal again. He had a duty to Panem, and that was giving his country a rebel victor. He could already see that the victors would be critical. They would be the only contact rebel Capitolites would have with the districts and the only way the districts had of communicating with each other. Aside from peacekeepers, but unless things changed drastically, a rebellion would not come from them.

Mags' voice caused him to turn. "It's a diversion, you shouldn't concentrate your forces here," she said, he hard gaze riveted on the fighting rebels.

Constantine had to stop his jaw from dropping. Mags assisting the Capitol? And why didn't she put her scarf back over her mouth? Was this part of an elaborate ploy? This was not the time for him to wonder, he had to trust his instincts about his ally. Mere seconds later, tense voices come out of the communicator clipped on Valerian's vest.

"The bunker had its own exits." A frantic male voice spoke up. "They're out at sector nine-oh-two. Five score at least, roughly a score armed with lethal weaponry, more incoming. Squads Five and Seven can't contain them. We need people ASAP!"

A calmer voice replied through the device. "Roger that, Lieutenant. Crafts one through six on their way, they'll block the mountain access. Crafts Eleven and Twelve will drop the bombs. Wait my mark to engage."

Shots covered in static reached Constantine's ears. "We're under fire, Sir! We have already engaged! Tell the crafts to throw the sleepers on the fleeing cowards."

Constantine found himself staring again at Valerian. If the use of soporifics was to be so liberal, why weren't the peacekeepers wearing masks? With a cocked eyebrow, he mouthed the word _sleepers._

Valerian lifted his eyes skywards briefly, as if to say _politics_. He didn't look amused at all.

Constantine whipped his head back to Lila. He was letting himself get distracted. The girl's eyes were on him. The squad guarding her was focusing on the chaotic action. Perfect. He pointed to the man on her left. The foolish guard had his back to her.

Lila didn't hesitate. Swift as an adder, her arm snaked inside his belt before she jumped away from the six men, tranquilizer gun in hand. Styx had no time to react as Lila repeatedly shot her with the silent weapon. Constantine counted five successive shots until the redhead from District Two fell to the ground. The chemicals were intended to subdue animals, not humans, even if they had been adapted, they would be incredibly dangerous. Five doses meant a certain death.

A canon blast coming from overhead made both tributes, peacekeepers and rebels freeze. For an instant, the battleground was silent. Constantine brought his hand to his beating heart, now convinced surprise could kill.

"Surviving tributes, five," a monotone female electronic voice said. It was coming from the decorated flagship.

Constantine feared he was going to be ill. _This was no game!_

"No!" Delphin's shout, heavy with fear rather than loss, cut the air at the same time as his knife.

The boy's hands shook so badly the weapon missed by yards, embedding itself the leg of one of Lila's guards. The man cried out in surprise and pain, tasing Delphin in instinctive self-defense. His colleagues restrained him and Lila in seconds but the damage was done. Delphin convulsed and dropped to his knees.

"Damn you," Lila loudly cursed, "I'm supposed to kill him! Let me go!"

Constantine could see one of the men protest.

"Because a standing twelve year old has more of a fucking chance than a tased trained eighteen year old?" Lila shouted. "Get your head out of your ass! There's no glory here!"

Constantine arched his eyebrows as a crazed-looking Lila weaseled her way out of the peacekeepers' grasp. She was so reactive that Constantine then knew that this was not the first time she'd escaped grown adults' clutches. It had been less than two minutes since the first shots had filled the air. Most untrained people would still be under shock.

_If you think you've had it hard, come to Eleven and see._

Constantine almost regretted having been harsh with the girl before, but it's not like she had cared. He doubted any words of his could have hurt her.

"Officers, do_ not_ interfere." This time, the voice from the hovercraft was President Achlys', and less forgiving than a barbed whip. The effect on the peacekeepers was instantaneous.

Lila had not even paused. She slashed the closest peacekeepers' throat with a knife and launched herself on Delphin, diving between two horror-struck and conflicted-looking men.

Constantine didn't wait to see how she would kill the boy, preferring to take the tranquilizer of the man standing next to Valerian and be spared the distasteful sight. Constantine was hardly stealthy and peacekeeper stared at him in shock but did not protest. After all, Constantine was the son of Colonel Aquila. The man's dark eyes darting to Mags and Fife with a grim expression.

Constantine's jaw tightened. As if he'd murder anyone, not to mention women, women_ he liked,_ in such a cowardly way.

A second canon blast echoed against the mountain slopes, covering for an instant every other noise.

Slick with Delphin's blood, Lila threw her knife on the nearest peacekeepers' face. The man cradling the first fallen law enforcer shot her with enough tranquilizers to kill a bear, apparently not caring for the Capitol's instructions anymore.

Lila's dying grin made nightmares looked whitewashed. Constantine was glad he would never dream again. At least the girl had looked proud of herself.

He squeezed Mags' arm to get her attention. "Trust me and do your part," he said, slipping her the tranquilizer gun.

The young woman nodded. "I won't forget," she mouthed, her eyes going back Captain Wickers. Constantine regretted never having spoken to the tall rebel. The remaining 'distraction' rebels were surrounded and almost swimming in soporifics, it would be a matter of seconds, maybe a minute, before their leader fell.

"Three tributes remaining," the electronic voice lazily said.

_Somebody blow that accursed thing up._

"Fife, come, I know how to pilot a hovercraft," he whispered, his eyes darting to the nearest cluster of grounded transports. He hadn't even had to move. Gun in hand, a deathly pale Fife was already by his side. Her hopeful expression made his heart clench. She didn't deserve this. It was necessary.

It was a half-lie. He'd been allowed to use the controls and direct a flying craft under close supervision twice, on his sixteenth birthday and then a little later. He hoped his memory wouldn't betray him. And that he'd take off smoothly.

"Do not interfere," Valerian all but growled as the other peacekeepers hesitated to let them pass.

"But, Sir, -"

Valerian silenced the speaker with a glare.

"Thank you, for treating me like an adult," Constantine said tightly, giving the man a quick accolade. A terrible thought then entered his mind. "And do not let Sable Lockley hold you responsible. She may seek revenge against you, she's unhinged." He couldn't bear the thought of Valerian coming to harm because of him.

Constantine tried not to think of the repercussions his death would have. Coraline would be devastated, Cereus would curse him and his parents... He put an abrupt end to that line of thought. Panem needed to be cleansed.

It was indeed less than a minute before Achlys' voice resonated again over gunshots, curses and robot screeches.

"Hello Wickers, it has been a while. Please do not sacrifice your people needlessly. We are merciful, and will treat those who recognize the error of their ways as regular citizens. They will be allowed to choose their new home and raise children unbothered, as long as they follow the law. The war is over and we have no wish to spill any more valuable blood. Surely you have noticed that we have brought no lethal weapons. Do not let unreasonable anger cloud your judgement. "

Constantine admired the conviction and leadership that infused every syllable. Why did a woman so magnificently gifted make such vile use of her talents?

"I'd rather die," Wickers snarled, "and you are the greatest fraud ever born, Evadne. I will-"

The man's furious speech was so abruptly cut off that Constantine risked a backwards glance.

"I think we have heard enough lies for a lifetime," Mags said, her voice colder than he'd ever heard. She was still pointing the tranquilizer gun at the fallen rebel leader.

Constantine was so shocked he stopped dead in his tracks. That was not what he had intended when he had given her the weapon! Fife shoved him forward.

"He did say he'd rather die," Fife whispered shakily, a hand over her scarf. "Imagine if the Capitol had hijacked him. Our favorite rebel has become a better actor than I'd have thought possible. And Chickaree got away, if the missing hovercraft over there is any indication," she added, soft laughter brightening her gaunt face.

Constantine followed her gaze and let out the breath he'd been holding. Fife had no measure of how greatly relieving her words were. Mags was still Mags, she was simply pretending to be on the Capitol's side to survive.

He hoped Teal was safe. He hated that he could not protect her.

The pilot didn't even bother to protest when Fife put a gun to his head. He lifted the hovercraft a yard off the ground and then jumped off. Constantine stared, surprised he hadn't thought of that himself. His throat clenched again as he saw the triumphant light in Fife's black eyes.

There was no other way, for either of them.

Achlys' voice filled the air once more. "Retrieve the two leaving tributes. Hovercrafts are out of bounds."

Fife raised her gun towards the speakers but seemed to reconsider. "Get us out of here faster," she snapped as Constantine slowly accelerated. He didn't dare go too fast until he was sure he remembered how to stabilize the craft.

"Nerves, woman. I need you to take them down," Constantine said, pointing at the three hovercrafts which had backed over two score rebels in a natural shelter and, since they couldn't get access, had decided to wait them out. Removing the hovercrafts for one minute would give these people the time to flee into the darkness.

"With my gun? I don't think…" Fife paused. "Oh, right"

_Oh right_ referred to the control panel linked to the integrated missile launcher at the back of the craft. The peacekeepers weren't as ill equipped as they wanted the crowds to believe.

"How does it work?"

"You aim with the monitor, lock on and shoot," Constantine tersely replied.

But there really wasn't much more to it. _Unlike piloting_, which was proving far from trivial. He resisted the urge to test out random buttons in the hope of hitting the one which controlled the doors. With them open, the howling wind had free reign in the cockpit and Constantine could barely hear himself think.

They were slow enough that the other hovercrafts thought they were reconsidering and would land. A grave mistake. Seven missiles shot forth in rapid succession, hitting side, tail and front but never missing. The second hovercraft exploded while the other four pilots struggled with emergency landing.

Constantine's eyes were wide open. Computer aided aim non-withstanding, Fife would have made a great weapons engineer. She just had a knack for it. Constantine decided telling her would not be well received.

Achlys didn't sound amused at all. "Kill them."

"Now that we've pissed off Madam President can we go faster?" Fife said, a definite edge to her voice.

"Yes, Ma'am," Constantine said. His lips bloomed into a boyish grin as he thought he recognized Sylvan leading the rebels out. So this was what saving people felt like.

He steered away, heading for the most hostile part of the mountains as he hoped to divert as many hovercrafts as possible from the rebels' trail and slammed the accelerator down. He had led a good life.

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**Patriotism and sacrifice in the line of duty when necessary. Everything one expects of a trained soldier. And then Constantine realized that serving Panem and serving the Capitol were not the same thing, unlike what he had been taught to believe...**

**Thanks for reading^^.**

**Please review and don't hesitate to tell me if anything was confusing. **


	23. Endgame

**A big thank you to all my reviewers. Sharp eyed readers are the reason plot holes were sidestepped and blunders corrected, and every single one of you makes me feel special just for being able to share my passion. Dear guests, I cannot contact you by PM, but do not mistake my silence for lack of appreciation. **

**About Gingerfluff's comments on gender-balancing:** I never thought to count how many characters I had of each gender and watch how it correlates with their importance in the story. Now that you do mention it, there are indeed more 'important' women than in your average novel but I don't think the men are sold short. I don't like books where the heroine kicks ass but all the other women are (almost) useless. Those hardly promote gender equality...

**Anyway, read on and have fun (if you find this chapter funny, you have an..._ interesting_ sense of humor.) **

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**Fife**

The inebriating burst of hope which had accompanied Constantine's revelations that he could pilot a hovercraft had dissipated from her mind and Fife now knew with despairing clarity that she had been had.

The howling wind tore tears from her eyes as she stared at the ground flying past some fifty feet below. Large sharp rocks cast dangerous shadows in the gloomy night.

_How could she have let Constantine drag her in the hovercraft!_ She couldn't jump. If the height didn't kill her, the speed surely would. The engines groaned as Constantine squeezed every last drop of power out of them, slaloming to stay close to the hostile mountain slopes. Every second now, airborne peacekeepers would lock on to them and shower the ground with metal dust and human ashes. They had to land quickly, find some rebels, and use the last hours of nighttime to flee, but Constantine seemed intent on flying circles through narrower and narrower paths.

Fife clutched her trembling arms, fighting down panic. If she had to die, she'd rather die bravely, but she didn't _have _to die. Constantine didn't even glance at her, his face set in a mask of stone. Yet his dark brown eyes were alight with fervor, like a man who had found his destiny. Fife was appalled. Constantine was able, fit and wealthy. How could one find more meaning in their death than in their life? How could he commit suicide of all things?

"What about your family," she said, her lips quivering with cold and fright as she stepped closer to Constantine, "how can you not fight to get back to them?"

No answer. The aristocratic boy stood immobile in the gloom, cold and handsome, like a statue of old. Fife could see the shine of sweat on his brow, the slight tremble to his fingers, little signs of weakness she knew to exploit, but time was running out and she couldn't afford to misstep.

"They don't love you?"

"I don't know," Constantine said, his voice soft. "They're proud of me. They need an heir to perpetuate their name."

Fife's heart clenched. She grasped Constantine's arm, hoping he would not mistake her compassion for pity and that he'd let himself be distracted into speaking more, and thus delaying their deaths. She knew everything about wearing masks, but at least she knew that at home she could be herself and that she was cherished for who she was.

Constantine chuckled dryly.

"My mother conceived me at forty-six, my father was almost sixty. They had been married for over twenty years. It is plain that I was a social necessity, one far down on their list of priorities. Once I was there, they groomed me. They were fair and paid close attention to my education in all things. They were great teachers but not parents, not in the sense you intend it. I have always been a very rewarding investment. Coraline has showed me more love than they ever did, and she's a paid servant. I owe my parents, I appreciate and respect them, but I do not see the appeal of the life I was conceived to lead. No matter how wealthy and well connected, I would be powerless, forced to deal with idiots for shallow goals. Teal will live and Mags will cleanse Panem of the plague scouring it."

_Powerless?_ Fife struggled to understand. He was all but powerless. And dying for Mags… Fife didn't doubt the girl's intentions or her willpower, just the impact a lone teenager, no matter how admirable, could have on Panem.

The rocks below were still but gray and brown blurs.

Constantine's eyes were a compassionate caress. He looked on the verge of apologizing yet Fife could not discern any cracks in his resolve. In Constantine's world sacrifice was heroic and noble. He was not afraid of death. Because of that, Fife feared him more than anyone else. She tightened her hold on his arm. She had to get him away from those controls. Her eyes flickered from the tiny colored lights next to the buttons to the lit panels. It was nothing like the tractors or the manufacture robots. She might as well have been trying to read hieroglyphs.

"You're angry," Constantine said. He looked sincerely apologetic, but Fife knew it wouldn't be enough.

"No." _She was too stunned to be angry. _"I'm about to die and struggling to process the fact." She spoke slowly, as if it would give the world enough time to set itself right. "You volunteered because you wanted to be free of the life you would have otherwise had in One, Constantine? You felt _that_ jailed?"

Fife refused to believe it. She'd have given an arm and a leg to have Constantine's life: power, wealth and security in a world where the poor had neither rights nor freedom. _He had brilliant friends for hugs if he had parent issues, damn it!_

"I truly believed there would be little competition," Constantine said with a self-deprecating grin. He really didn't seem afraid. Fife let him go and moved away from him. The looming mountain slopes seemed darker with every second.

Constantine was about to lead them to their death for a cause he'd learned to believe in. He was dying for a person he admired and for the woman he believed to love. Fife was so tense that she couldn't even swallow. He wouldn't listen to reason. What was the point of fighting for a grand cause if you would never see the fruit of your labor?

_There will never be another rebellion if people think like you,_ Cat had said; _Cat_, who chewed on her blonde locks when she was nervous and curled her nose when she tackled a sensitive issue. Cat, who'd sown pink teddy bears to the school's bully's gym clothes and who said 'I dare you!' whenever Fife chickened out on a risky plan; Fife had never wanted to see her best friend as desperately as she did now.

The mountain wall was almost upon them, and Constantine made no move to turn. _He was really going to do it. He was about to kill them both._

Fife instinctively took a step back, as if it would keep her safe from an impeding collision. Her voice rose to a shriek. "Constantine steer away!"

"Panem must be changed. Do not be selfish." The young man's knuckles were white on the controls. "It will be brief, Fife. Mags must be given this chance."

Mags would never be happy. She carried the world on her shoulders. Fife could be happy. _It wasn't fair!_ Fife couldn't give up. Hate suddenly boiled in her blood, burning away her fear and feeding her resolve. _How dare Constantine dismiss her life as some necessary sacrifice!_

She snarled and rammed her shoulder into his chest, throwing him off balance. Her hands flew to the hovercraft's command panel. She slammed the joystick to the side. The hovercraft lurched dangerously. Constantine fell, rolling on the floor as they took a sharp turn away from the mountain.

The eighteen year old was up again in seconds. He shoved Fife against the wall, inches away from the open latch. Cold sweat trickled slowly down her neck, as she pushed away the hair stuck to her face, trying to ignore the wind's bite and keep her balance. Fife knew she had lost her advantage even before Constantine wrestled her knife out of her hand, with little more effort than if she had been a stuffed doll. He pushed her down again, hard enough to bruise. She stopped struggling when she saw it was no use. She should have slit his throat instead of slamming into him.

"You foolish girl," Constantine snarled, his face flushed with ire, "you are too weak to overpower me. Do try to keep a semblance of dignity."

"I won't die for some noble bullshit of yours," Fife snapped back, staying on the floor only because he was stabilizing the craft once more. "Take us away, Constantine! We can make it!"

"Grow up, Fife. Those rules even you cannot break! You're just a cunning kid from Nine's streets. You know nothing of true power."

Fife looked down, her voice a husky whisper. The nearest mountain was still too close. Anger would only kill her. She let her fury be washed away by helplessness; "I haven't even ever kissed a guy," she said brokenly.

Constantine faltered. He unclenched his free hand and slowly reached out to her, a forlorn light entering his eyes. For a second he was torn enough to be vulnerable. That's all she'd needed.

Fife threw her leg out. She'd aimed for Constantine's crotch. She hit his gut.

He gasped, doubling over.

"In a nicer world, we could've been great friends, Constantine. Goodbye," she said, her chest tight as she took in his handsome face one last time.

The hovercraft tilted, coming almost at a standstill, twenty feet off the ground, about to plunge nose first.

Dirt and pebble paths amidst big rocks and even greater threats maybe lay concealed by the night. Death awaited her everywhere. Constantine grunted, his arm reaching for the controls.

The wind was so cold.

_'I dare you, Fife!'_

Cat's voice had the effect of a physical shove. Fife jumped out of the hovercraft.

All those jokes about flying being easy but landing being hard crystallized in her over-oxygenated brain and popped like a glass bubble as she hit the ground. Her legs collapsed under her with a horrible crunching sound. Pebbles became bullets as they collided with her chest. She rolled down the slope, the ground burning her clothes off her, screams ringing in her ears. _Her_ screams.

They were not loud enough to cover the explosion that resonated like a doomsday herald across the whole range. Constantine. He'd made sure to crash it at least a hundred yards away from where she'd fallen. The noble fool.

_Goodbye, Constantine._

Everything hurt too much to let her grieve. Her battered body in agony, Fife wondered why life was worth so much pain.

Her body had come to a halt, she wasn't tumbling downhill anymore. She forced her mouth shut and eyes open, begging her brain not to shut down. She blinked repeatedly in the darkness, unsure if her eyes were open or closed. She wiped them with a miraculously cooperating arm and only succeeded in spreading more grime over them. Watery colors and blurred shapes appeared after an agonizing eternity. Shapes, coming closer; Fife couldn't even turn herself on her back.

A dim purple halo, auburn hair under the shawl, pressure on her burning shoulder, Chickaree.

"Can't see," Fife rasped.

_Help me._

"I'll put her out of her misery before the hounds shoot down the whole mountain. Following their craft was sentimental idiocy of the highest order." _Skylar._ "Please step aside, Chickaree. We've got no other choice, Ma'am."

Panic unlocked Fife's throat. "I don't want to die! Cut it off!" Her lungs screamed with every breath.

Skylar barked a pained laugh. "What, your head?"

_The cameras in her eyes._ Fife had just thought of the tracker in her arm. She didn't care about her arm anymore. But her head... Despaired, Fife only clutched Chickaree's clothes harder. They couldn't kill her, they just couldn't.

"Please," she begged.

She wasn't aware enough to identify the blur next to her. Her face exploded. Her whole body was pain. She couldn't even scream. The last shreds of consciousness slipped through her grasp.

* * *

**Mags**

Mags' eyes were riveted on the mountain the hovercraft her two allies had disappeared behind. In addition to the early morning darkness, noxious gazes blurred the air and crippled the hovercrafts' lights' efficiency. This barely heightened the girl's spirits. It had been less than ten minutes since Captain Wickers had burst out of the sewers with a score of men to give the others a chance to flee, but Mags felt like all her life had just been one long messy war.

Few gunshots still pierced the air, and those who reached her came from the mountains behind her. The peacekeepers had almost all put their Tasers and tranquilizer guns away. Twenty fully-manned hovercrafts had launched after Constantine, Fife and the fleeing rebels. The mountains would offer protection, especially to those who knew the lay of the land, but how much?

At least two score rebels were incapacitated, unconscious from the soporific grenades or tied up. Hundreds of peacekeepers had been deployed. Mags' suspicions were confirmed: the Hunger Games had been just one piece of one much larger trap.

A yell caught her attention. Fallen figures began to rise. Mags brought a hand to her mouth in fear. A small rebel group had faked unconsciousness. Gunshots. One, four, nine, twelve peacekeepers dead. Tasers. Tranquilizer shots. One, three, five rebels down. In her mind, she was seeing Captain Wickers fall over and over again. The last great hope of the Rebellion and she had had kill him to keep the Capitol from crushing his spirit and warping his mind, using him as one more puppet in their infamous theater. And she would have to take pride in it in front of cameras, saying she had done it for the good of the Capitol. A lie. Lies were the Capitol's weapons of choice, and they would have to be her shield.

Unarmed and bodily restrained by the peacekeepers, Mags could only watch, her lips twisted into a grim snarl. Tenuous hope still forced her eyes to roam the devastated land before her. Had Sylvan and Chickaree gotten away?

A cannon blast burst from the speakers of the flag-bearing hovercraft. Mags started, almost striking the man closest to her. The significance of such a blast suddenly registered.

_Two_.

Mags felt like a rock had lodged itself in her throat.

Another blast. The rock was searing hot and scorched her down to her soul.

_One._

Fife. Constantine. Condemned since the start, but Mags knew she should have tried harder to save her companions, _friends_. To save them all.

For the first time, Mags wondered what she'd actually done to win. Why had Constantine's faith in her been justified? How had she been stronger than him, than Fife or even Lila? She barely had a scratch on her.

_But wounds she had aplenty, invisible but deep, that would give way to scars just as ugly. _Forewarning barely diminished the acute loss ripping at her soul.

A hand slowly fastened itself around her shoulder. Mags couldn't bring herself to react. She wanted to fall to her knees and weep. To hide in a corner and wait to be saved, to be told the monsters were dead and the world beautiful.

Valerian's blue eyes were glittering with warning as he lowered his lips to her ear.

"I'm going to have to explain to my colonel that her son was very explicit about wanting you to win. While Constantine was old enough to make a man's choice, don't ever think to disappoint, Abalone."

Mags feared she would burst into tears as the choking blanket of responsibility viciously wrapped itself around her exhausted body. "Never," she managed to vow.

She could feel Valerian's breath on her neck and hear the steps of a hundred peacekeepers dragging the unconscious prisoners to the hovercrafts. She had rarely been at the center of such bustling activity.

She had never felt so terribly alone.

Mags squared her shoulders and wiped her face. She had asked for this burden. She'd earn that accursed right to be hailed as victor.

* * *

**Author's note.**

One day, I will write a nice fluffy fic where no one dies.

Well, we all knew Mags would win. I hope you are not disappointed by the 'how' of it.

**Thank you for reading, reviewing, favoriting, following etc. Was there reviewing in that list? ;P**


	24. Consequences

**Thanks for all the input on the last chapter^^. You are awesome. Don't forget to share any ideas for future scenes you might want to see.**

Reminders:

In this story, the Hunger Games didn't become 'live' until later Games. In Games one to eight (this is the 9th Games in case someone forgot), there was a long (20-40 min) recap every evening of the Games with a five minute update every morning and every day at 1 pm and then a final recap (2 hours long) after the victor had won. Everything was compulsory watching.

After all, there were no sponsors, so a live feed was useless, except for rebellious comments getting through. Even in the later Games, I think the Capitol makes sure to focus their cameras on tributes who aren't being rebellious or talking about their home district and just have a different feed for mentors to enable them to follow their tributes at all times and who cares if the mentors hear the tribute's rebellious words?)

Even now, sponsors are rare, and it'll take years (and a highly favored tribute to die from poison between two recaps) before the Capitol asks for a live recap.

**Alright, that's enough backstory for today. ;D**

**This chapter is from Cereus' point of view. The flashback Constantine had involving him was in chapter 4.**

* * *

Cereus Sphene lived his life by one single rule: have no regrets.

He wasn't a thrill seeker, instead he wanted to be able to look back and say 'I did the best I could'. He'd learned it at nine, the haunting power of regrets.

A boy had one day come to Cereus' street. The Dark Days had just ended, and lots of people were in the streets, but that boy was different. He came every day but he didn't beg. He just sat there in the sunlight, where he could see the bustling marketplace below. Cereus itched to talk to him but the boy was older -maybe twelve- and obviously richer, with a fat golden family ring, velvet trousers and solid leather shoes. It wasn't Cereus' place to make the first move. So curious it physically ached, Cereus imagined a thousand conversations with the boy in his head, but he knew that if a rich person didn't ask first it meant they didn't want to be bothered. Bothering rich people was a very dangerous thing to do.

The boy in the street never failed to shyly smile at Cereus and Cereus returned the greetings, always slowing but never stopping, never voicing the questions that he was bursting to ask. He waited for the boy to introduce himself first, but the boy never did. He just stayed there, seated and watching the market, day after day for over a month. He slowly grew thinner and his pricey clothes were clean but always the same -which was weird for a rich boy- until, one day, he never came back.

Cereus had been hurrying home as usual, feeling the familiar rush of excitement and frustration at the thought of seeing that odd boy. _Maybe today he'd actually talk to him._

The empty street had filled the nine year old with a greater fear than he'd ever experienced.

Crying tears he could neither explain nor stop, Cereus rushed through the whole city, a sense of terrible loss clawing at his inside.

_He has light brown hair to his shoulders, blue eyes shaped like fat almonds, small lips, taller than me, Ma'am, but he's skinny in his clothes, very pricey blue clothes. _

_I think he's about twelve years old, Sir, he's got a golden ring. No, I don't know what's on the ring. No, I don't know his name. I'm sorry, but please help me find him!_

Some people were helpful, even if they had little to go on, others just eyed Cereus suspiciously when he mentioned the ring. _Stay out of people's business, Son, especially if they're wealthy._ That rule had suddenly stopped mattering to Cereus. There were less than thirty families in which people wore the golden rings. It was just a matter of checking them all. Cereus had tea with some nice rich ladies as he asked around, and got some doors slammed in his face by servants, but he couldn't find anything.

Seraphim –for that was the boy's name- had been the direct heir to the Equinox line. His parents had died in a way that had cast doubt on their allegiances and his eldest cousin, another war orphan, had decided the inheritance was his by right, since _his_ parents had been loyal and Seraphim was now his to raise. Seraphim had been locked out until dusk and allowed a single meal a day until he had signed the consent form decreeing his cousin heir. The legitimate Equinox heir lost weight and spent his days outside, waiting for dusk, but refused to give in. His cousin finally lost patience.

But Cereus didn't learn that until years later, from a resigned-sounding Selene Aquila.

Now a young adult, Cereus was still gnawed by guilt at the thought he'd failed to recognize the boy's cry for help. Cereus could have saved Seraphim's life had he looked beyond the rich clothes and seen the truth about a child abandoned after a terrible war. At the very least, Cereus should have told his parents, but at the time, the idea of the boy being severely punished for skipping so much school had kept him quiet. What an idiot he'd been.

Nine-year-old Cereus had skipped three days of school in his searches, breaking every rule his parents had ever set about going out on his own and talking to strangers. They would have been beside themselves with anger and worry had they found out. But they didn't until much later, when any punishment would have been meaningless, thanks to Constantine Aquila.

Back then, Cereus knew Constantine as one of the rich kids, a quiet one who barely even talked to the other rich kids. His partner for Stones and Jewelry Estimation class, Obsidian, vowed at least once a day that she'd marry Constantine, for he was so pretty and didn't tease people like many of the other rich kids. Cereus found Constantine very scary, because at least teasing he understood. Constantine paid attention to get good marks even if he was already rich and always looked bored by everything others did. He didn't make any sense.

Cereus could therefore not have been more astonished when, despaired to have no note from his parents to give the stern teacher to explain his absence, he heard Constantine tell the man that his mother had needed Cereus' help with an investigation. When someone tried asking questions, Constantine gave his rich-boy _shut up_ stare. _It's classified_, he'd said.

And because he was the son of one of the three colonels of District One, even the teacher didn't insist.

The day before, a nice lady, Coraline, had opened the door to the Aquila mansion after Cereus had knocked. She'd even given him cookies. Selene Aquila had listened to his description and then gone to check the database on her computer. She'd then said that there was no missing boy that age among the rich families. She'd had that peacekeeper look, the one that said _no questions!_ even louder than the dark rich-boy look Constantine did so well.

Under the teacher's suspicious scrutiny, Cereus fidgeted so badly he almost blushed. Constantine had helped him out of a very tight spot, but he wasn't even an acquaintance. Rich people had to speak to you first.

Cereus took pride in never making the same mistake twice.

He therefore went to see Constantine during break and introduced himself properly. Constantine gave him a weird half-smile and crossed his arms. "I can't believe you went on an adventure. My parents would have killed me had I tried. _Your_ parents might still kill you but you did it without fear," he said, his voice tinged with envy and awe.

Cereus opened his mouth to say his parents would never literally kill him and that it had never been about adventure, but then Constantine asked him if he wanted a piece of his blueberry muffin.

Distracted, the nine year old grinned and took the muffin. He couldn't remember what blueberry tasted like. Fruit had become insanely expensive during the Dark Days, and even now, blueberries were for the very wealthy. Cereus couldn't believe he'd just become Constantine Aquila's friend.

Indeed, he hadn't. It took Cereus four years to be able to safely say that Constantine was his friend and no one else gave him so many headaches or made him so mad. Constantine was unfeeling, unreasonable, stubborn, unimpressed and prejudiced, but he was also sophisticated, honest, brave, loyal and incredibly generous when he cared about someone. Constantine let nothing stop him if he believed in a cause.

* * *

_And that idiot had volunteered. _

Cereus seethed as some specialist began to analyze the prices of fur on the TV screen. No sign of the tributes. The interviews had been yesterday and Constantine had been his usual _I'm me, worship me _ public self. Today they were supposed to enter the arena, _why were they receiving no information?_ It was nine PM. _How long did cutting and editing take?_ Never before had the Capitol failed to air a short recap on every game day before the final endgame recap._ Had something gone wrong?_ Cereus was so tense he couldn't touch his dinner.

It was ten PM when President Achlys appeared on screen. Cereus blinked, feverishly wondering what was so important for the President herself to deliver the message. He sat on his hands to stop his embarrassing shaking.

"The first broadcasts will be delayed, maybe to tomorrow, maybe for ten days. These Games are very special. We have decided to give the tributes a chance to contribute to the greatness of Panem. None of them will die in vain."

_Now that's an improvement over last years', _Cereus thought, his sarcasm rooted in anguish. Where was Constantine? Why the secrecy? Couldn't they at least know who was alive? An eight in training was great for showing off, but hardly a guarantee of success.

He had to move. "Dad, may I go visit the Aquilas?"

"With no formal invitation..."

"You want them to admit they're worried and need emotional support? That'll never happen. I'm going, Dad. Even if Selene or Roy don't want to hear it, Coraline will be thrilled to see me."

Constantine's governess was great, so bubbly, spirited and affectionate, Cereus figured she wouldn't mind at all if they both freaked out over the Games, on the contrary. He'd rather see Coraline panic than making his own mother cry at seeing him so upset. Ten days of waiting? Cereus wouldn't survive it.

_Yes, he would, but Constantine…_ Cereus had to find a way to get him sponsors. If Vicuña had gotten some, surely it was just a matter of having the right connections.

"Very well, run off," Saffron Sphene said after a pause, "don't do anything stupid, Cereus."

Usually the latter was said with a smile, but today the mustached man was serious, worry creasing his face as he clasped his son's shoulder. Cereus briefly embraced his father and forced a small smile, trying to behave like a man instead of a mewling distraught kitten.

"I'll go straight to the Aquilas and then straight home before one AM, Dad, I promise."

_Why had Constantine volunteered?_ Cereus knew he hadn't planned to. _What had gone through his mind during the reapings?_

* * *

Cereus had survived the week and was nervously undoing the seam of his sleeves, with a shivering Coraline almost in his lap. Constantine's parents were so tense that they didn't even pretend to make a case of the servant sharing the living room couch. Constantine's mysterious reason for volunteering was the elephant in the room. Cereus hated him for having been so selfish.

At precisely nine PM, the Capitol crest appeared on screen. Cereus was afraid his heart would burst from stress.

The editing was plain confusing. The cameras were planted in the tributes' eyes, making the picture itself awkward.

Cereus didn't want the commentary. He wanted to hear what the tributes said for himself, not some loose and convenient interpretation of what lips-reading softwares had revealed.

The Capitol had erased the tributes' recent memories (_erased their memories! Had they no boundaries?_) and had planned to take them somewhere undisclosed but two of the tributes sabotaged the train and paid for it with their lives.

Cereus winced at the mania in Mirabelle's eyes and at the callousness of the boy from Two. Never had there been so many dead so quickly. Cereus raised a fist to his mouth, both ill and somewhat relieved. The less competition, the shorter the Games, the quicker he could hope to see his best friend again. Cereus barely caught a glimpse of Constantine. Just enough to see that his best friend had picked his allies wrong: the unpredictable short girl who had stolen the show during the interviews and the quietest of the volunteers. A skilled actor and someone with both a purpose and solid training... Of course Constantine would pick interesting over safe.

Cereus desperately hoped he would not fall for the girl from Four, she was pretty enough and evidently a fighter, and Constantine was even more of an idiot when he had a crush.

The first recap ended with the hovercraft picking up the three surviving 'Careers' as they left the burning Scavenger den behind. A screenshot of the dead boy from Five had made Cereus wipe his eyes in hopeless confusion. What had happened between the moment Rapid had woken up near the train wreck with a mark on his arm and his death remained unclear. Had he drunk bad water like Gyan from Three?

Cereus was too anxious for Constantine's sequences to spare more than token compassion for the other dead. Just like for the beastly Scavenger attack on the tributes camping near the train, he averted his eyes when Mirabelle stuck a blade through a wailing child, gleefully burning the Scavenger's slums as she screamed about avenging Jason, until Styx and Will, horror etched in their features, put an end to her killing spree. He had only looked again when the commentator announced Mirabelle's death at her former allies' hands.

He was inordinately relieved that Selene counted as a peacekeeper presence and that he did not have to go watch the Games in a public room. There, he would have been punished for averting his eyes.

Cereus took a sharp breath at the end of the recap. He mustered his courage and turned to Constantine's stony-faced parents. "Can we please watch the sequences with Constantine a second time, without sound? I want to really look at him."

"Those poor children were eaten," Coraline stammered, her fingers digging in Cereus' arm. "My little prince is about to go there, to kill these people. Why do they make him do this?"

"The editing is clever," Selene said, her voice colder than winter's nights, "what happened to our son during those two days in the Citadel? Nothing was shown except the vile jar. The rebels will be portrayed as monstrous whatever the truth is."

"Selene, be careful..."

"This conversation will not leave the house, Roy. I have no affection for those underground lurkers. I simply agree that we should watch Constantine without the distracting commentary."

The worst was that the last scene including Constantine had been Fife stopping him from climbing into the smoke filled sewer level, which had happened, according to the camera, the day before at four PM. They didn't even know if Constantine was still alive right now.

* * *

Twenty-four hours was too little time to get sponsors, but Cereus and Selene managed to find the escort's lover, a shrewd middle-aged beauty who oversaw the sales of a big gem-cutting factory. It wasn't too hard to see what kind of information she could give and what she wanted in exchange. She gave them some useful contacts and the updated list of the living.

Constantine was alive. Cereus laughed, made light-headed from relief.

The second recap was confusing again, full of holes and discrepancies, but only if one watched carefully and without sound. Cereus knew the great majority of people would soak up the Capitol's words. They lacked the will, or the wish, to force themselves to watch the horror more carefully than they had to.

What Cereus saw was how close Constantine walked to Fife, how he let her lie to Atli and smiled at her, amused and admiring. He saw how Mags bravely stepped before Chase's gun, and how Constantine deferred to the girl from Four. Cereus forgot the rebels and watched his best friend. He saw Mags and Fife argue with him about how dangerous the Citadel rebels were and how Constantine paid attention to their opinions. He saw two girls whom Constantine respected and when he saw Constantine's fury when the rebel widow spoke of burial and when Cereus saw the last look Constantine gave Teal, Cereus wept, recognizing it all too well.

Teal and the bald rebel Lieutenant Sylvan were portrayed as tragic victims. Cereus let loose a litany of whispered curses when Constantine comforted the widow, hating the Capitol for broadcasting the private moment to all of Panem. Teal was portrayed as an innocent woman who would die because cruel men had brainwashed her. Cereus counted the commentator saying she'd been only fifteen when the rebellion had started _six bloody times_. He heard Selene growl as they went on about how the well-bred peacekeeper son was being gallant to the poor misguided rebel. She could well see that her son was smitten, and that a broken heart was inevitable, even if he won.

And knowing Constantine's priorities, Cereus couldn't even be certain he would try so hard anymore.

Robin fom Seven died trying to escape the Capitol. She'd killed her avox to slip away and wounded a peacekeeper, or so they were told. She was executed.

Cereus clenched his shaking hands as he saw how Atli used her district partner as bait to crash a hovercraft. At least the vile man was dead.

_Meaningful deaths. Right._

The group of renegade cannibals that Styx and Delphin encountered when they came back to the ruins told the cameras all about Atli and how he had forced them to live in filth and told them that the Capitol would flay them alive and use the bones of their children to make mutts if they tried to leave. Atli apparently also had threatened to take away their children if they dared teach them that the outside world wasn't Hell itself. They had bowed and scraped, saying how grateful they were to the Capitol for giving them a chance at redeeming themselves.

Cereus wondered how much was true and how much was what those pitiful rebels had been ordered to say in exchange for their lives. He lost what little remaining color he had when he saw how horribly those people treated their children, this time wishing there had been no sound. Coraline, already sick with dread and exhausted from lack of sleep, fainted when she saw the abuse through Constantine's eyes.

When those monsters ended fighting with other Scavengers, Cereus wiped his eyes in consternation.

_What? Were these more renegades?_ Cereus found it as terribly confusing as it was horrible. There was no denying that those rebels were twisted but he craved a clearer explanation.

Constantine and Mags threw their grenades and spared them the sight of more child-murder and gore.

As he watched the flames fill the screen, Cereus suddenly felt very close to the curled up Fife. He was seated on a comfortable couch and yet yearned to flee the madness.

The recap continued without so much as a pause and the commentator slowly changed his take on Mags. First she'd been a naive terrorist sympathizer (of course it wasn't _her_ fault, it was the bad rebel influence) but now, attention was brought on her change in attitude, how seeing the truth had opened the bright girl's eyes and how her _caring fighter soul_ was starting to see the light.

Selene had actually laughed at that.

Cereus had smiled once, when he saw that Constantine and his allies had taken to wear scarves and masks. The commentator sounded annoyed. _Ha._ Cereus was glad they had their memories back and weren't oblivious to the Capitol's plan, but it was little comfort; for it was now plain Constantine would never kill the two girls.

Cereus sighed, affection and pain warring inside him. He was glad Constantine wouldn't kill them, he loved his friend for his staunch loyalty, but in the Games, it would not serve him.

Selene abruptly stood up. "I need to summon Valerian. Now those obscure orders makes sense. He'll bring my son back."

What orders? Peacekeepers would be involved? Cereus' hand tightened painfully over the armrest. The Capitol had little concern over district casualties.

When Cereus' eyes fell on Fife, winking at Constantine behind Keane's back and Constantine winking back, Cereus realized just how much he hated the Capitol.

It was ten PM. The closing scene, Delphin and Styx saying goodbye to the renegade Scavengers, had happened on the same day at six. It seemed that even those two didn't want to kill each other, although Styx was probably right not to feel threatened. Delphin was edgy and breaking down, like any regular person would.

Cereus resigned himself to spend another sleepless night.

* * *

Cereus was half awake when an explosion tore through the skies. _That's it, the world is ending_, he groggily thought as he jumped down from his bed out of instinct. Not even the Dark Days had birthed anything so loud.

He then blinked, his mind clearing and dread filling his limbs. He rushed to the window.

Where the Capitol could be glimpsed on the days the air was pure and the sky clear, a column of fire erupted in the night, rattling windows and filling the skies with huge clouds of pungent smoke.

_An explosion, in the Capitol? Were they being bombed? Were the Dark Days upon them once again?_

Frantic, Cereus hastily dressed and sprinted to the Aquilas'. He arrived as the grandfather's clock struck five AM, drenched in sweat. The couple was already sitting with a disheveled Coraline in front of the TV. The Capitol crest flashed on the screen.

"They'll replay it at eight AM," Roy Aquila said in way of greeting, "I suspect this is the last video of these accursed Games."

Cereus shivered, terrified of what the recordings would show. He shook himself. _He had to have faith in Constantine!_

It began with the Capitol contacting the rebels through one of their bird-robots. "We are aware of your plan involving explosives. We are evacuating the area at this very moment and the force-fields are almost raised. If you detonate now, you will kill a hundred avoxes for every remaining Capitol citizen and the districts will struggle to pay for the repairs. The Capitol will treat you fairly if you surrender now and leave the bunker."

Cereus' blood ran cold, for he already knew the answer the rebels would give.

"Anyone who lives in the Capitol deserves to die. We are merciful by making it painless," a voice covered in static replied.

"Can't avoxes run as fast as anyone?" Coraline muttered, tears in her eyes. "Why are they still so many in the zone?"

Cereus' face darkened. _Indeed._ He suddenly suspected the worst type was of foul play.

Keane's death was the next image to flash on screen. The rebels had shot him.

Cereus gaped in shock. _Why? Why were the rebels so agitated? Even with the 'plan' it made no sense._

Cereus kept staring, still all too painfully aware of Coraline's previous words. The voice could be a fabrication, but the explosion and dreadful images of avox corpses were disgustingly real. Those poor people; life had been the last thing they'd had. Cereus felt a pang of compassion for the Capitol citizen who had had less than a couple of hours to evacuate and now lost all their worldly possessions.

The audience saw Mags promise her two allies that they would find a way out of the cell, and soon a friend of Teal's breaking them out and saying they'd disobeyed Wickers because they had realized he was mad. They learned Chickaree was Teal's aunt, and the woman, formerly a horrid rebel, suddenly joined the ranks of tragically brainwashed. Nevertheless a trial for Chickaree was in order because the law had to apply and people were responsible for their actions.

Cereus' head ached at the double standards and incoherence, but he had no time to think, for the commentator quickly moved on to when two distinct groups of peacekeepers escorted the tributes out.

The next scene was higher in the sewers and the rebels were all gone. Valerian Fletcher was there, he'd found Constantine. A ghost of a smile graced Cereus' lips. The tension in the room dropped a little, but only a little, because it was obvious Constantine would not make any move to kill his two allies.

Lila was shown to be dangerous and unhinged -which apparently was no surprise as she was from Eleven- and it had been clear she had been ruthless from the moment she had sent the Scavengers to eat the other tributes, but her whole 'kill me so the Capitol can't use me' routine had actually impressed Cereus. He refused to base his opinion of anyone on the commentator's words. Those words had Wickers as the true bad guy of the tale. After all, if Mags herself, a kind girl so willing to give people a chance, had shot Wickers, he had to be Evil incarnate. Cereus could almost hear a pesky voice whispering _Perverting honest citizens since 2355 _in his ear. Nothing could be that black and white.

"Why don't they have real weapons, Mistress?" Coraline whispered as the barely armored peacekeepers charged the rebels who'd surfaced.

"Because the Capitol is merciful and forgiving," Selene said in dead tones, soon echoed by the lively –and now quite outraged- commentator who screamed about the rebels being uncivilized butchers.

_What were those people supposed to do, throw away their guns and take knives out against Tasers and tranquilizers? Was the truth so terrifying that the Capitol had to take every watcher in Panem for idiots?_

Cereus' ground his teeth so hard he tasted blood. Too many of the peacekeeper casualties were familiar.

The commentator announced Sylvan Grey's death, tragically shot by another rebel with bad aim, but there was no picture.

_So many dead on both sides..._ Cereus wanted to break something. _How did all this make the world a better place? _The rebels were almost all captured, some shot themselves as their masks failed to protect them against the soporifics, others were lugged on hovercrafts.

The Capitol had won.

Then there were three, and Constantine took the tranquilizer gun. Cereus stopped breathing. Constantine's sense of honor would not allow him to kill Fife and Mags, Valerian had to do it. Valerian didn't. Constantine grabbed Fife and started running.

Cereus was in an altered state, his brain unable to process what the screen showed as his best friend took control of a hovercraft. How had Fife gotten her hands on a real gun? What was Constantine doing? Cereus' eyes were as wide as dinner plates as the two shoot down three other crafts. His heart stopped when Achlys ordered their deaths and was too stunned to scream when Constantine willingly crashed against the mountain.

Coraline fell to her knees on the floor. Her strangled scream was like a knife to Cereus' chest. This couldn't be happening. It was all a bad dream.

The commentator's wild announcement grated on his ears like an off-key violin. "Mags Abalone from District Four, victor of the Ninth Hunger Games!"

Selene turned the television off. What little softness there had been in her face seemed to have disappeared with her son's death.

It was real. Constantine was _gone_.

Cereus felt empty. Plans for the future dissolved before his very eyes as he contemplated a life without his best friend. The gaping hole in his chest sucked the light out of the room, dulling his perceptions. Nothing, there was nothing left.

"I want that hovercraft's black-box records," Selene said, her voice shaking with grief and rage. "I will know what my son said to that girl! Don't let Fletcher near me for at least a week. I might regret killing him later."

Cereus was still too numb to wonder who she was giving that order to. Rooted in the sofa, he just knew one thing: Constantine had turned on the Capitol. He had died for Mags. _Why?_

Cereus would meet that girl.

"Why did he volunteer, Cereus?" Roy Aquila said, pale and drawn like a man on his death bed.

"I don't know, Sir." Cereus whispered, feeling tears fill his eyes. He blinked furiously, hating to cry. _I just don't know._

* * *

Obtaining the true records of all of Constantine's conversations after two months of pulled strings and exchanged favors had felt like a great victory, but now Cereus wished they had never found out. Roy Aquila, proud, charismatic and elegant, had always seemed indestructible despite his seventy-seven years. He didn't make it through the fall; ravaged by guilt at the belief he had murdered his own son.

_You felt that caged? _Cereus had been torn between hitting his head against the wall and cursing with rage.

Selene endured, but Cereus was worried, for he had never seen the distant woman both so unyielding and yet so… fiery. She spoke more and more bluntly, she raised her voice and let her hair grow, she caused scenes and fired mediocre or corrupt officers in such a public way that she made the papers twice a week. _Colonel Aquila's crusade,_ they called it. Three months and two avoided assassination attempts later, Selene resigned from her position and asked to be given a Captain's responsibilities in another District. She moved to District Ten, sending Cereus weekly missives about how surprisingly fun horse-riding was and about the incompetence of local peacekeepers.

Coraline was given a tenth of the Aquila fortune after Roy's death and could have bought a large house of her own, but she seemed unprepared to give up her life as a governess so soon. She was hired by Valerian for his young children and slowly recovered her easy smile, but she always wore black and her blonde hair grew streaked with white.

* * *

Cereus clenched his jaw in bitter disappointment. Mags Abalone had been too well guarded. He hadn't gotten close, let alone talked to her privately. Valerian had been able to give her the unedited version of Constantine's conversation with Fife, but allowing Cereus close to Mags would have been worth more than his job. Valerian had been part of the victor's guard because Mags had demanded it.

The victor had delivered a short but striking speech about accepting the truth and making compromises in order to offer your children a better world. Even Vicuña had not made speeches during her tour. Cereus remembered Selene's laugh and wondered where Mags' true loyalties lay.

Clad in a simple blue dress, the comely young woman had a rare intensity for someone who had gone through so much. Cereus had not been able to take his eyes off her face, wondering if she too still missed Constantine. It seemed that his life had been put on hold ever since he had lost his best friend.

As he watched the train leave, Cereus knew he would obsess over Mags until he talked to her.

A chuckle escaped his lips. He'd had an insane idea.

* * *

Valerian's face was priceless when Cereus announced that he wanted to join the peacekeepers, but Cereus was certain.

_No regrets._

It might take him years, but he would go to District Four.

* * *

**Author's note.**

**Moral of the story, don't volunteer. And yes, I remain aware that Mags volunteered and won. But she would never have won on her own. **

**In case you missed it. Cresyl is completely absent from the recaps (he wasn't in the room when Chickaree showed the trio the head), so both the bits with the Capitol contact and the carbon monoxide part were never revealed. That's why Cereus wonders where Fife's gun comes from.**

** Also, Keane's friend, Rapid's death was blamed on the environment and many conversations are cut out or heavily edited. The recaps are probably a bit confusing, but the idea is to show that the Capitol bombarded the viewers with rapid propaganda commentary and images to show them the rebels were at best brainwashed and at worst horrible monsters.**

For the record:

Recap 1: chapters 2 to chapter 7 (from the train crash -labeled Day 0- to day 5, 4pm). Aired on day 6 at 9pm

Recap 2: chapters 8 to 18 (Day 5, 4pm, to Day 7, 6pm, so excluding the part with the Capitol contact and Cresyl). Aired on day 7 at 9pm.

Recap 3: chapters 20 (starting with Keane's death) to 23. Night 7: approx. 2.30 am to end. Aired on night 7 at 5 am (semi-live version) and 8 am.

The recaps are one hour long except for the last one which is about 30 minutes long.

**Please review^^.**


	25. Epilogue: Start Anew

**This is the epilogue of the Ninth Hunger Games. **

**For all intents and purposes, this is the end of the book. I will keep updating chapters on Checkmate because I don't want to separate this into two stories.**

**So chapter 25, because there's no reason why things can't sometimes turn for the best. Or at least the not-worse.**

* * *

Fife was woken by the smell. A smell so pungent it reeked, but not in an unpleasant way. Rich and musky, it was utterly unfamiliar. She brought her hands to her head, gingerly feeling the thick bandage covering her eyes and nose. Her eyes didn't seem to register the slight pressure she was putting on them with her fingers.

Fife wriggled her toes and unfurled her arms and legs. She let out a breath of relief as her body responded. There was no real pain, just stiffness and dull aches. She felt her way to a seated position on the bed –or was it just a mattress? It was rough and felt uneven- Her hands found a wall on one side, rough and warm. _Bark? _Fife ran her fingers over the surface, tapping it gently as she struggled to rely on senses other than sight. Where could she be?

She paused to listen. Odd sounds reached her ears; trills and chirps, birds. She strained her ears, mystified. There were so few trees in Nine that only pigeons, sparrows and the occasional hawk populated the empty skies. Songbirds were something that existed in cages for the amusement of the very rich. Fife brought her knees to her chest, suddenly finding the darkness chilling. If she wasn't home, where was she?

She ran her hands over her face and body for other bandages and scars. She was naked under some kind of cotton shift. Her fingers paused on her left upper arm. A two-inch wide circle of skin was wrinkled yet smooth. She suddenly pictured a horrible burn mark. The thoughtful smile the bird songs had brought to her lips withered and died.

_Constantine, Mags. The Hunger Games._

Fife grasped her knees in a tight embrace as cold shivers run up her spine and limbs. Her unresponsive eyes dry as the desert but her soul wept as she slowly rocked her body. Constantine had been so sure his death was heroic. He had been at peace. Mags was probably still out there somewhere, determined to change the world. She would die before she gave up. They'd both deserved so much better. Fife hoped Mags would find it in her to be happy.

The huddled girl took a shaky breath. Constantine's handsome face was etched in her memory, the last thing she remembered before jumping, and the pain. She would never see them again. Both allies and enemies, and yet they had been more loyal than what Fife would have expected of her closest friend. Would the memories would fade or would be condemned to find every relationship flavorless after this, comparing everyone who crossed her path to the two extraordinary tributes who had shown her that there were souls the Capitol could never taint?

Outside, a loud chirp broke through Fife's mournful thoughts, tugging her back into the present. A small smile drew itself on Fife's lips, a pained but giddy smile, as she adopted a more comfortable seating position. She breathed in, feeling lightheaded. She'd done it. She'd beaten the odds. But she wasn't home. Where could she be?

She whistled, absently trying to imitate the loud chatter outside. A soft rustle against her bare skin told her there was an open window nearby. Her stomach grumbled. She was starving.

"That's one fat and ugly bird."

Fife started -she'd heard no door open- and found herself grinning at the familiar voice. She couldn't reach out with her arms without looking ridiculous so she spread them in a welcoming gesture.

"_What about animals?" Briar, the most talkative Citadel kid of her 'propaganda class', asked._

"_Just a few birds in District Nine. They're all fat and ugly. The Capitol feeds them with the leftover grain because they don't want us to eat the surplus. And they put a selective poison in the birds so we can't eat them. So they fly around looking down at us and sometimes unloading less than savory content on our heads," Fife said solemnly, earnestness personified._

_Stern gray eyes bore into hers. Fife repressed a snicker. She just couldn't resist overdoing it when Chickaree came to check on her. After all, the rebel woman had all but said that she wanted those children to feel privileged about living hidden underground rather than yearning for the outside world, so some coloring was in order._

Fife swallowed painfully. Were any of those kids still alive?_  
_

"How are you, Chickaree? How long has it been? Where are we? Who is 'we'?" She said, firing the questions so quickly that she had to stop to breathe.

Of course it had been them. Who else? And who else had medicine advanced enough to mend broken bones in days?

Chickaree's half-fond half-teasing laugh reached her ears. Fife, a small smile still on her lips, tilted her chin up defensively. She'd show the woman there was nothing wrong about asking questions.

"Quite well, considering," Chickaree said, gently grasping the girl's hand. "You've been unconscious eleven days. Teal, Fix and Skylar with three more from the Citadel are here. You might remember young Oliver."

Fife's grin broadened. She remembered indeed.

_Seriously? It couldn't be dawn yet. Fife realized the shape shaking her awake was quite small._

_Fife concealed her groan with a yawn. "What time is it?"_

"_Late," a childish voice whispered, "or early, it depends. I want a story, but a real one, not that spooky tosh. I know you have to lie because the others are stupid and would go get themselves killed outside just to take a peek, but I can handle the truth."_

"_And who are you, Curious?"_

"_Oliver, and I heard Chickaree tell you off for asking questions. I know loads of answers."_

_Fife sat up. She figured she might even like this kid._

"The nosy chipmunk survived because he snuck into the bunker to spy on Arion -his father- and the rest of us that night," Chickaree continued. Fife could hear the smile in her voice. "Arion is here too, with Piezo, a friend. I'll introduce you."

Fife smiled again but her heart wasn't truly in it. Three out of how many rebels who had tried to come to Seven with Chickaree? Had Oliver had a mother? Was the man whom Teal had said Chickaree loved, Hunter, alive in some other District? Fife didn't dare ask, unable to fathom where Chickaree found her strength.

Immersed in oppressive darkness, Fife tried to picture the woman who was holding her hand. The memories were precise and easy to find. Chickaree's fit form, graceful movements and regal posture, her jaw, too strong to be feminine, softened by a long but thin nose. Those pronounced arched eyebrows crowning her magnificent pale gray eyes. High cheekbones which made her look drawn but also increased the soldierly air about her. Fife furrowed her brow. What shape were Chickaree's ears? Fife couldn't check. She'd never paid attention because she hadn't needed to. Now she desperately wanted to know. How many other things had she failed to notice when she'd still had the chance? She hardly remembered Skylar's face, past the terrible scars.

She fought to keep her voice level. "Have you dyed your hair? The Capitol must know you now."

"Yes, gray."

Fife winced. Such lustrous auburn hair. She giggled, stupidly happy to be still capable of such vain thoughts. The blindness wasn't such a big deal. She was alive. She couldn't believe it. She'd handle the rest.

"It is important I be dismissed as just one ageing woman fleeing a plague," Chickaree pursued, "the swamp villages of Seven's borders aren't very supervised, we're just required to provide a quota of wood. People move and rebuild often because the death tolls are high and the places we can safely log few, so strangers aren't suspicious. Escaping to the north is madness. There is no civilization there and the winters kill. The marshes surround us in every other direction and the roads are heavily patrolled, but we are reasonably safe here. We work in plain light as official citizen. We are diminished but we have people disseminated everywhere in Panem. We will rise again when the time is right."

Eleven days and they were official citizen already? Those people hadn't lost their touch. District Seven... Forests... it had always sounded like a fun place.

"You'll be formidable," Fife promised, clumsily reaching for Chickaree's second hand. "Will my eyes heal? What really happened to them?"

Chickaree's silence spoke volumes.

"You must have used a lot of your best medicine on me," Fife finally said, "and you'll never get anything like it again here. I can't thank you enough. I can live with being blind, Chickaree. Don't worry about me."

She refused to be an additional source of pain for the people who had saved her life. She was much too young to mope around and consider the best part of her life over.

A mirthless smile then quirked her lips. She would live, but it wouldn't be her. People were rarely aware of how much their faces and body language revealed. Blind she would have to be much more sincere, unable to adapt her words and expression to unspoken signals. What had made her special had just been taken away. And her name was too well known now to risk being heard by a peacekeeper. Fife Chican was dead.

The events of the last weeks seemed surreal, events and faces flashed before her eyes, ghosts of the past, flashes of light. Fife's instincts were to push them away, to forget the fear, the horror, the death. Instead the girl struggled to latch on, to etch them in her memory forever.

"Why did you ask us to kill Peacekeeper Ashlar?" She mumured as a pair of pleading blue eyes entered the edge of her vision.

Chickaree squeezed her shoulder. "We had no expectations. It was to see how you thought, to make you angry, to force you to reveal what you expected of rebels and what you would say about yourself."

A sense of utter weariness and dismay invaded Fife. She put her head in her arms and chuckled. "You must have thought I was insane."

"No, you tried to reason with us. You were clever, desperate and prepared to deal with fanatics. Your resolve was admirable. Mags was not, she wanted us to be the rebels people imagine in tales, and I liked that. It is heart-warming to see people still fight and hope. Constantine was... struggling. He listened, he had decided Mags was someone to be loyal to and held no particular love of the Capitol. It was more than I would have expected from a Colonel's son. You did not fail." Chickaree drew a shaky breath, and her voice was thick with regret. "I am sorry for our cool welcome and the way we threw you at Atli," her voice dropped to a choked whisper. "We were terrified the Capitol would use you to destroy us, when the traitor had been in our midst all these years."

Fife shivered, yet the memories were but ghosts in the wind. Even that was not enough to dampen her exuberance at the realization that her life was not in danger anymore. It was over.

"Don't beat yourself up. I forgive you," Fife said with a smile.

The seventeen year old itched to run outside and breathe clean air. She felt Chickaree sit next to her. The warm presence reminded her this was not about her alone.

"Were you able to send a message to my parents and brother?" Fife said, hating how vulnerable she sounded.

She hadn't even said goodbye properly. So many things she would never be able to say… She should have spent more time with Tabor. She swallowed, suddenly terrified he'd resent her forever, if only to cope with the loss.

"Yes, that crumbled card in your pocket. It looked like a devil. Skylar said to reverse it."

Gratefulness accompanied by a profound sense of loss almost tore a sob out of Fife. She would never see them again. _Mum, Dad, Tabor, Cat_. Yet the rebels could not have done more. She forced cheer in her tone.

"Brilliant. I'll have to thank Skylar. Who'd have thought he was the tarot card type…" Fife paused, leaning into the former rebel leader, soaking up the warmth of her soft body. "I've always been partial to the name Deirdre. What's my cover story?"

Fife wanted to weep again when all she heard was silence. How was she supposed to talk someone if she didn't see their faces? She unfolded her legs and froze. She would never run again. The realization was like an searing knife ripping at her chest. She hadn't switched Nine's roofs for Seven's trees, no, now she was earthbound and clumsy. A cripple. Dependent. _Alive._ Fife forced the pain aside and a new smile on her trembling lips. She squeezed Chickaree's hands harder, now glad for her inability to produce tears.

"I know my first life is over," she said, "I'm really happy that my family knows I'm well. I can handle this, just please spell out what I cannot see. And tell whoever it was who threw acid or whatever in my face to destroy the cameras that I don't hate them."

Her face had seemed normal to the touch. Fife hoped she wasn't disfigured, but it could wait.

A strangled chuckle escaped Chickaree's throat. "Fix will be very relieved. He has been very worried." Chickaree chuckled again, but the sound had a strong edge to it and Fife could now hear how hard the woman had been trying to keep herself together. "Scratch that, he's been torturing himself over it. Please make a big deal of forgiving him because he'll do something stupid otherwise." Chickaree took a calming breath. "He goes by Pan now," she said, failing to keep a slight tremble out of her voice. Fife swallowed, realizing the woman was crying.

"Chickaree is a rather common name in Seven, so is Teal," Chickaree pursued, her voice a husky whisper, "we have kept our names. You can be who you wish, Deirdre. You can be my daughter or a friend. Your story is yours to tell."

Fife let her forehead fall against Chickaree's chest, humbled the woman would offer to be family.

_Her story_. She was good with those.

**THE END**.

* * *

**I wouldn't call it a classic happy ending, but I never truly intended to kill them all.**

**Please review^^.**


	26. Book Two: And Now For A Word

**And so begins book 2. Thank you to all those who read and reviewed.**

**Someone asked me a fair while ago if Checkmate and Showdown follow the same 'pre-canon'. The answer is no. Here Snow will take power sometime before Haymich's Games (the 50th) just like he does in canon. I don't know yet how big of a deal I'll make of that yet.**

* * *

_Date: Year 9, August. Two days after Mags' victory._

The President's office was bigger than Mags' entire house and yet was almost empty save for a simple cherry-oak working desk and seven leather chairs set around a conference table. A large bay window offered a breathtaking sight on the fortress city. Mags eyes lingered on the large gaping tear dug by the explosion. Aircrafts dropped water on the still flaming rubble. _One thousand_ Avoxes... and now the Capitol would rest on their bones until it too was turned to ashes. The aircraft were like iron bees in the distance, and in each of them Mags saw a desperate Fife and a fiercely determined Constantine flying to their deaths. Had she been worth the sacrifice? The recaps had failed to mask the hate in Fife's eyes, the searing hate that reminded Mags that one of the two would have won, would be alive to hug their loved ones, had it not been for her.

Mags pushed such thoughts aside before the President could see her tears. _Remember the dead, fight on for the living._ Every rebel knew that loss was a dark pool full of lurking monsters. She owed more to her mother and Esperanza than she did to her two allies. She had to be strong, losing herself in mourning would not bring them back and betray the faith Constantine had had in her.

Mags had been assigned three Avoxes in the last two days but had seen no one else. She had wept in the bathtub for hours, releasing all the emotions she had forced down in the last weeks, until her grief crystallized into the will to _do_ something, to make everything _worth it_. She watched the official recaps and saw nothing that she hadn't expected. Constantine's and Fife's deaths were still too raw for the pile of lies to affect her as much as it should have. She had no space left for more anger and pain. Her victory had not been _her_ doing, it had been Constantine's and Fife's gift to her. Mags had no words to express how much that meant to her. Every one of her breaths, every small movement reminded her of what she owed them, what she owed Panem. She hoped that she would one day find herself deserving of that sacrifice.

After a fitful night of drug-induced sleep, Mags spent the second day alone in her room, basking in the privacy she was offered to collect herself and decide what her new angle would be.

Her stylist, August, a cheerful man with spinning multicolored geometrical designs tattooed on every inch of his skin, burst in her room in the morning. He had warmly expressed his pride in her success and then endeavored to make her presentable for her _mid-morning chat _with the President. He talked only of clothes, etiquette and fashion, which suited Mags quite well.

Mags now waited for the President to speak first.

Evadne Achlys sat down in the tallest leather chair, her back ramrod-straight but her expression amiable. "Tea? Coffee? Whiskey?" She offered, gesturing at the tray her assistant, a lithe man in an elegant brown suit, was carrying. Despite the weight of the tray, the Capitolite held it in one hand. A gun was visible on his belt.

"Tea, please," Mags replied as she took the seat next to the President, at the edge of the table. Anything to occupy her hands, but alcohol would be a very bad idea.

Absently fingering her emerald chandelier earrings, Achlys waited for the employee to back away to the door before turning her piecing golden gaze on Mags.

"Why did you volunteer, Mags?"

Mags inhaled slowly, willing her heartbeat to slow. If this conversation went badly, her freedom and the lives of her family would be forfeit.

"Sixteen, now seventeen, kids from District Four have died in the Hunger Games," she began, her voice already tense, "I won't bore you with their names, Madam President, but I know them all. Every year I have seen people walk, heads bowed, towards the reaping square. I thought it was the most degrading thing ever; being forced to watch your innocent children die. I... I wanted to stop it. I wanted to show that we're not beaten or weak by becoming a victor."

Mags knew she had to be as truthful as possible, or her 'awakening' would seem fake. Achlys knew she had entered the Games believing in rebel ideals. Mags would not attempt to hide how difficult this was for her or how reluctant she was to admit that the President had been right all along. Accepting Capitol propaganda as the truth would mean acknowledging that she had lived seventeen years believing lies, so, even were she sincere about her 'new loyalties', the words exiting her mouth would have been painful to utter.

"I was wrong about who was the real enemy. I dreamed of a world full of strong rebels who'd make everything right and fair and easy," Mags continued with a bitter smile, "and then I met them." She took a trembling breath. "I had thought that with rebels in charge everything would be great, but they made us kill the peacekeeper and… and they let his body be eaten by those Scavengers, who they left alive so long…." Her lips turned into a snarl. "There were just so many double standards!" She said heatedly. "They shot Keane without ever giving him a chance. They _have_ been less forgiving than the Capitol."

But the Capitol could afford to compromise, if one of the people they gave citizenship to turned against them, they would find out and execute them. The rebels had much lesser means of surveillance and even one traitor could get them all killed. One almost had… Mags expression grew dark as she thought of Cresyl. There had been no trace of him in the recaps. _Erased_. No one would ever know the Capitol had had a spy among the rebels.

"I couldn't even really argue with Cresyl and I wanted to hate him so badly. Those people pretended to want what was best for everyone and then just used us. They… I can't even speak of the Scavengers… I understand why you made that video with the crazy abusive people, even if it's a disgusting exaggeration. I wanted to finish my father's job, to make his sacrifice mean something. I was young when he died and couldn't imagine him being wrong about anything. I wanted the world to be black and white and it's not." Mags took a deep breath, blinking tears out of her green eyes. "Mum was right."

Achlys had been listening to her with her hands clasped together, her golden eyes narrowed in intense attention. She didn't look displeased but her face was soft, almost compassionate.

Mags tensed. She would not make the mistake of underestimating the woman.

"Your mother didn't want you to volunteer?" Achlys said softly.

Mags shook her head, desperate to get away with this lie. She had to protect her mother.

"No. She didn't want me to. She often says that ideals are sweet but don't build empires. We had a serious fight. She told me to grow up and accept that reality is based on compromise. She didn't make a scene during the goodbyes because she's a much better person than I am. I… in the end I didn't want them to die, none of them, but it's because of people like Wickers that Dad is dead. And I could see all those peacekeepers, people just doing their jobs, people Constantine knew, who were shot as if they were animals. I just…"

Mags let it spill, every guilty thought, every selfish grudge against the rebels. Many of these things she had made peace with long ago but lingering resentment was easy to summon. She tried to stick as much to the truth as she could, afraid to entrap herself in a web of thick lies. She almost lost track of her thoughts as she thought of Fife and the ease with which the girl had spun stories. Crushing guilt filled Mags as she thought of how easily she'd convinced herself that her life was worth more than her friends'. She forced herself to focus back on Achlys. Everything depended on the President being convinced.

"Will my mother be in trouble?" She finally said, too worried not to ask.

Achlys arched her eyebrows. "Why would she be? You, your little sister, your friends have nothing to fear. You can check your house, it won't be bugged. This isn't the Hunger Games anymore. You are free to live your life as long as you respect the law. You will simply have duties as a mentor and are strongly encouraged to make some aspects of your life public. You will be approached by many journalists, choose one or two to whom you will occasionally grant an interview."

It was too beautiful to be true. Mags failed to keep all suspicion out of her tone. "I don't want to be presumptuous, maybe my vision was tainted by what I was taught but-"

"We want you to see that Panem's prosperity is our main goal," Achlys interrupted. She flashed Mags a wry smile. "How would threatening you or putting you under tight surveillance convince you of anything except that those outlaws were right about us? We want you to be happy. We want your goals to be our goals. There is no miracle solution to eradicate all poverty, but I wish for every lawful citizen to live in dignity and find happiness. There is much to rebuild, and I know how much I am asking of this nation, but what this generation does, the next generation will be grateful for. There won't be the Dark Days to pay for, so already, it will be easier."

Mags almost choked on her tea, hating the hope those words birthed. "No Hunger Games?"

"If the Districts learn their lesson, if there is no major dissent for over a decade, the Games will be abolished." Achlys pressed her lips in a thin line. "But the last years have not been very promising."

Mags felt her insides twist and churn as all her instincts assured her that the woman was being genuine. She would have preferred someone ruthless and cruel to this earnest leader, persuaded that she was acting for the good of the nation. Mags wanted to believe Achlys, and the mere thought terrified her beyond reason.

"Sylvan Grey said that you have been giving District people power," Mags said after a short hesitation. She dearly hoped that the Capitol's lack of filmed evidence meant the man had survived. Chilled with fear, Mags wanted to cover her ears and flee the room before Achlys' words could instill any more criminal doubt in her mind, yet rabid curiosity also seared her veins.

The woman sighed, bringing a hand to her short white hair. Mags noticed she had tiny gemstones outlining griffins in flight embedded in her polished nails. Achlys seemed very natural compared to many other Capitolites. Maybe simply because the President had nothing to prove to anyone.

"It's quite tragic how rebels with the right facts come to the worst of conclusions," Achlys said, shaking her head in aggravation.

Replace 'rebels' by 'Capitol' and Mags would have raised her teacup in agreement.

"A person's birthplace doesn't always determine their worth," Achlys elaborated, "there is a lot to be said about upbringing and education, but some souls are of greater mettle than others. Not all Capitolites are worthy and some District citizens truly distinguish themselves. Those are promoted. I will never dismiss any who wish to serve." A small smile graced Achlys' lips. "The great majority of the rebels we captured three nights ago became quite reasonable after having talked with our officials. They will be put on probation in their home district and I believe they will give us little trouble. Groups with lofty ideals make people unreasonable, but individuals generally can effectively choose what is best for themselves and their families. I hope the other citizen will learn from them and stop clinging to poisonous fairy tales."

Mags had straightened at the mention of the rebels, her whole posture betraying her interest for any scrap of information. She suddenly realized why Evadne Achlys was such a dangerous woman.

In the past, whenever Achlys had appeared on TV, Mags had not truly listened to her, because the President was the enemy and Mags had been certain that only rebels were lucid about what was moral and just. But now that Mags was willing to listen, if only to play her part, the President threatened to shake the very foundations of her beliefs without ever seeming aggressive. Mags had been too used to brute strength to appreciate the danger of insidious manipulation. - t_he great majority - talked with our officials - choose what is best -. _What threats and methods lay hidden behind those words? What darkness would Mags discover were she to shadow one of those Capitol _officials_?

The President uncrossed her legs and stood up to open a window, letting the evening breeze cool the office. "What are your plans now, Mags Abalone?"

Mags' breath hitched. She lowered her eyes, persuaded Achlys could smell her fear.

"Apologize to my mother and my sister," she began with a weak smile, "enjoy the money and make District Four into what it should be. Some talents have been neglected because of all the effort put towards rebuilding and removing the pollution from the seas and shores. I think our sailors could have better training, and it should be centralized. I'd like to work with children and teenagers, and now that I have the money and the time, I feel the need to build something which will last. Too much damage has already been done."

She knew any type of training would have to be disguised as something to boost the district industry; besides she had already planned to give good job opportunities to the trained children who would never be reaped. Those were the ones that would make a true difference.

Achlys seemed torn between approval and suspicion. "The Capitol will welcome an increase in productivity and so will District Four. Do you already have an idea of who you will hire?"

"I won't mind if one of your specialists comes to look at the syllabus when I'll have drafted it," Mags hastily said, "I know good intentions don't guarantee I'll be brilliant at managing a whole academy the first time around, but all our good whalers are over thirty-five now and my mother says the reports report more broken ropes and ships sent to the shipyards in the last years…" Mags cleared her throat. "I won't bore you with the details, but there is a lot to do. We just need someone who has the will and puts in the resources, and I want to be that person."

_Please don't ask more questions, please believe me, please let me go. _Mags' hands were clenched so hard in her lap that she feared they would snap.

Achlys smiled, revealing perfect teeth. "Every victor should aim to serve their district. We must show the people that we can work together for the happiness of all. We will make sure you are not overwhelmed or feel abandoned Mags. I will send a team to help you. You'll have authority over them, even if they will also report to me, of course, and the power to fire anyone who doesn't meet your standards. Do not feel punished, I just wish all of this to be done as efficiently as possible." Her eyes suddenly grew softer. "You would have sacrificed everything for your ideals, Mags. Now your ideals are the right ones. You should have no regrets."

Mags swallowed as she nodded, suddenly feeling faint. Achlys' voice was vibrant and warm and nothing in her attitude belied her apparent goodwill. When had hating individuals become so difficult? Achlys was the top of the chain of command in the Capitol. The Hunger Games were _her_ brain child! Hating her should be as easy as breathing. Instead, Mags was starting to wonder if people were not lying to Achlys about the state of the districts to line their own pockets. The President sounded too concerned to be a heartless despot. A terrible thought entered her mind. What if Achlys truly believed all she said? Was she truly so evil, so monstruous, that she sincerely believed that she acted for the good of Panem?

Mags' mind was reeling. She needed to get out. "Thank you, Madam President, for giving me a chance to be who I should have been since the beginning," she said, her voice slightly trembling.

"Denying you it would have been a terrible waste of potential," Achlys said, gesturing at the man besides the door.

A flash of hate and guilt passed over Mags' face as she turned to leave. Because Fife and Constantine dying was no waste?

"One last thing, Mags Peregrine-Abalone."

Dread filled Mags' stomach as her she braced herself for the worst. _This was it_, Achlys was about to call her out on her lies and avox her. "Yes, Madam President?"

"Why do you think we allowed you to train illegally, even if all the talents you acquired could in theory be useful in your everyday life?"

_They knew?_ Achlys gave her a small patronizing smile as Mags' surprise showed on her face. Mags dropped her gaze, greatly relieved that her angle still held and now wondering herself. The memory of the Careers' vile actions after the train-wreck made her exhale sharply in dismay. It was so glaringly obvious.

"Because if there are no killers reaped, you get Hunger Games like the second and third ones, where the arena has to do all the work because no-one will _play_," she said, hoping she didn't sound as appalled as she felt.

Achlys laughed, a brief but genuine laugh. "You hate this, Girl. I'd be worried if you didn't. Realizing your beliefs are wrong can shatter a weaker person, but the truth is worth it. Being humble and honest with yourself is the only way to become a good person, Mags. The world is a harsh place and we must accept to make some sacrifices for the greater good. You are on the right path now, you will not regret your choices."

A nervous grin broke Mags' lips. The most feared woman in Panem saw herself as _humble, honest and real_? Mags managed a polite nod before the door was shut behind her. Her mind seemed unable to process the conversation she had just had. She was certain of one thing: Evadne Achlys made her skin crawl.

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**Please review^^.**


	27. The Career

_Date: Year 9, August. Three days after Mags' victory._

Mags clicked her new suitcase shut, careful not to trap her flowing sleeves in the large lock. She was more than ready to go home.

She had spent the day in the wave-like blue and white dress she had worn for the interviews, letting professionals take pictures of _the Lady of the Oceans_ and answering the questions from the list she had been given just after her meeting with the President. Since she had had time to prepare, everything had gone over smoothly. No mention of the dead tributes was made; instead Marcus Flickerman had focused on her plans for the future and her _awakening_. Mags had become a symbol for propaganda, the confused but well-meaning rebel turned enlightened citizen. As revolting as it was, Mags forced her feelings aside. No rebel would triumph by staying out in the open.

She feared the stares she would receive back home, full of pity and judgment. She feared that the very people she wished to save would hate her and think her a broken coward, but no matter how painful it would be, the only thing that mattered was what she would accomplish.

Mags paused without turning as she heard footsteps down the corridor. The lack of heels made her furrow her brow. Even male Capitolites wore metal lined shoes, and the step was too loud to be an avox.

"I'd like us to take a walk, Mags, before you leave."

Mags tensed as she recognized the voice. Vicuña Chrysaor, Constantine's mentor, _the Career_.

Mags slowly turned around. Vicuña's blue eyes were alight with open curiosity. Mags decided not to see any malice in the invitation. She didn't know which mentors were still in the Capitol. In truth, she hadn't even thought to seek them out.

Mags silently followed the blonde up two flights of stairs to a large balcony, struggling not to step on her overdone dress. Mags slowly walked to the spun iron railing, her golden-brown hair swept back by the strong summer gales. From there, she couldn't see the destruction waged by the underground bomb, instead tall colored spires reached into the indigo sky while people and vehicles milled about, like a thousand parading peacocks, in the wide city-streets. Mags tasted the warm pasty wind on her lips and felt a wave of homesickness crash into her. Everything felt off. The air was too thick, the sun too hot and there were neither birds nor cicadas to celebrate the day with their songs.

The older victor gestured to the sight before them. "Beautiful isn't it?" Vicuna's smile grew wry. "There are conditions attached of course, but it's still magnificent."

Mags smiled at the last. It was gorgeous indeed, in its artificial way. "Are all the other victors gone?" She asked.

A short harsh laugh escaped Vicuña's lips. "There are only two victors, Mags. You and me."

Mags winced, inexplicably bothered by the cutting statement. She turned to Vicuña, truly looking at her for the first time. The young woman was barely twenty but had nothing childish about her. She stood tall and had the air of someone who owed nothing to anyone, yet she looked neither worn nor jaded, simply _aware_. Her short blond hair and loose clothes were masculine, and Vicuña wore neither jewelry nor make-up to soften her tough figure. She looked at ease as she grasped the railing with her calloused hands.

"Only two victors?" Mags repeated. She feared she was beginning to understand.

A sad expression entered Vicuña's eyes. "The other Hunger Games all claimed twenty four lives." She exhaled at Mags' wry eye roll. Defensiveness crept into her tone. "That's what the Careers are supposed to be about. Having a survivor, someone who enjoys being alive instead of those zombies trapped in nightmares."

Mags was now staring, struggling to push away the dreadful memory of Vicuña slicing through a begging fourteen year old with her huge sword and to actually listen to what the woman was telling her. She had never dwelt at length on Vicuña's reasons. Wanting to be on the Capitol's good side and craving wealth and power had seemed reason enough.

Vicuña threw her arms in the air, a flush creeping up her cheeks. "Look at them, Mags! Comet now spends almost all her time in the Capitol, as an actress, and between shootings she remains in character, because she's much too disgusted to be herself. The two moody guys from Seven argue like some bad caricature of an old couple. They never let the other out of their sight and _live together_! Mattock from Ten never says a word and is one sullen bastard, but at least he's done wonders for his family and has a girlfriend he treats right, which can't be said for Rye, who's trying to see how many laws he can break before the Capitol hangs his ass. That ugly runt has single-handedly spent more on hookers in the last three years than _his whole bloody district_ put together," she exclaimed.

Disgust etched in her face, Vicuña took a bitter breath and lowered her voice. "Bianca from the Six won through patience and luck alone, and now she's still waiting. For what, she won't tell, but she has become an expert in astrology, and expensive cocktails... I haven't ever seen her completely sober and I doubt she will ever talk to me again after these Games."

"You were the one who told us the tributes from Six had sabotaged the train," Mags whispered hollowly, her mind pulling her back to the day of the train crash. "The two of them had no chance, they were innocent."

"We were all innocent compared to what we become as victors," Vicuña snapped. "You'd rather the ruins had claimed them, or maybe the Scavengers? Better than having _you_ kill them, no?"

Mags took a shaky breath, more upset by those words than she wanted to admit. Vicuña had taken a step back, her body wound tight and her expression defensive, almost hurt. Mags didn't want her hurt. Everyone had a choice, but telling Vicuña she should have gone against Achlys and lied for two condemned tributes was ridiculous and childish. Yet it always came back to finding excuses for people working hand in hand with the Capitol, to accepting that tributes were but disposable pawns on a chessboard. Mags feared she might be physically ill.

"So you're telling me all the other victors would have been better off dead?" Mags said, hoping she didn't look as terrible as she felt.

Vicuña barked a laugh at Mags' appalled expression.

"They believe it. What have you won if that's what your life becomes?" She said. "They're all so young and they're wasting their lives away." A sigh escaped Vicuña's lips as she shook her head, her eyes lost in the distance. "There are quite a few people who could benefit from being a victor, who could handle it. Winning was my only chance at a future. My family was a mess and we were much too poor to hope things could get fixed by hard work alone, so I trained and I won and I'm happy I did."

Vicuña put a hand on Mags' shoulder and flashed her a knowing smile. "You're proud of yourself, Mags, not because of what happened, but because you knew what you were fighting for. Having volunteers will save all the kids who aren't made for the Games from getting reaped and the victors will enjoy their status instead of being such wrecks."

Mags nodded slowly. Vicuña's reasoning made sense, but Mags feared there were ramifications they were not yet aware of. The idea of promoting Career-training in a way that wasn't tightly monitored sent shivers up her spine. The Games were death, and that nothing could change. Six of them had had sevens and eights in training and five of those were dead. Training would make it seem like the dead had asked for it. And worse, Vicuña spoke about building a society that considered the Games to be a long term reality, and that Mags felt utterly unprepared to accept. Rage and anguish warred in her as a sudden crushing loneliness almost pushed her to the ground.

_Was she the only person who still believed in a successful rebellion?_

"Training might be convenient for the Capitol, but it's illegal," Mags said, almost daring to hope her weak argument would have some weight.

"Then it just won't be too obvious," Vicuña said with a shrug. "It won't be a problem, not as long as the District is loyal."

Mags bit her lip. _Loyal._ District Four was a nest of dormant rebels, and Mags suspected that Achlys was actually counting on her to change that_. How ironic_. Vicuña sounded quite confident, which meant that the Capitol had given her its blessing.

Vicuña looked away from Mags, her eyes landing on the Capitolites in the streets below. "The President told me the reapings for the first two Games were rigged. There was no one under seventeen except for those three psychotic kids who should have been locked up. The tributes hardly looked sweet and if you ever check, you'll see they all had criminal, but rarely rebel, pasts. Everything was done to limit the amount of sympathy district people would muster. It's much more random now, but they're still careful, Mags."

Mags couldn't speak for a few seconds. She remembered the first thirteen year old ever reaped, a bloodthirsty orphan who had been broken by the war. Mags was guilty to admit she had been relieved to see him die. The memory now sent rage sizzling through her veins. _Rigged?_ To make them think it was all right?

"Why would the President tell you that?" Mags finally managed.

Vicuña's mouth split into the feral smile Mags had seen so many times on TV. "To show me the Capitol knows what it's doing and that we'd better behave. Your Games were one big play. I can't imagine the amount of lies you will have to tell mundane citizen, so I figured it would be fair for you to at least know the truth. You don't have to worry about any siblings of yours getting reaped anymore either. Evadne isn't stupid enough to lose us like that."

Mags' eyes narrowed at the casual use of the President's first name. She was torn between sheer relief and fear. Esperanza's name would be back in the bowl in a blink, and on a thousand slips, if Mags were to reveal her true colors.

After an awkward pause, Mags extended her hand. "Thank you, Vicuña. I was told victors can come and go to the Capitol at will as long as we notify the President. I'll keep in touch."

She doubted they would ever be friends, but Vicuña would be useful and doubtless decent company. More importantly, people had to get used to seeing Mags in the Capitol if she wanted to build the foundations of a new rebellion without being caught. Capitolites were the only people who could contact any district and Mags would need inside help to liberate Panem when the time would come.

Vicuña shook her outstretched hand firmly. "I don't care for the _Awakened Mermaid_ and all that stuff," she said with an earnest expression, "I won't argue politics with you. I'm just glad there's finally someone here who wants to live on." Her voice dropped to a whisper as she tightened her grip. "I'm sorry about Aquila. When you'll be a mentor, try hard not to get attached."

Mags lowered her eyes as Vicuña let go of her hand. Constantine's smile mixed with the face of the twelve year old from district Ten, Leon, in her mind. _Don't get attached_. Mags' jaw clenched in sudden anger. _She didn't have a damned switch to turn off her ability to care!_

Mags forced a small smile after another tense pause. "I hope we'll get happy victors more often."

She didn't like the idea of giving wealth and power to trained murderers, but then she thought of Fife, who had put a blade through two men and shot three hovercrafts down, and she decided selfish killers didn't have to be so bad. If victors couldn't be innocent, they may as well be happy. _As long as they didn't become some sort of special Capitol police._

In the city below, bells suddenly erupted in a symphony of joyful tolls.

Mags smile broadened. In four hours' time, she would be home.

* * *

Mags could never have predicted how the training centers in District One, and especially Two, would sacrifice whole generations, breaking the empathy of hundreds of children, instead of protecting the weaker teenagers and giving an ambitious volunteer their happy ending like Vicuña had naively wanted.

She could never have predicted the decades of wait that made rebellion seem an almost impossible dream. _Almost._

* * *

**Author's note.**

**Some information you may want to have:**

**Games:**

Games 1 victor: District 7 male (age 18)

2: D9 male (18). Committed suicide during the chariot rides.

3: D7 male (16)

4: D6 female: Bianca (18)

5: D10 male: Mattock (18)

6: D9 male: Rye (17)

7: D1 female: Vicuña Chrysaor (18), volunteer.

8: D3 female: Comet (17)

**Names (3). All District One. **

**Cereus: **name of a species of cactus that bloom briefly at night, sometimes only once every ten years, giving a beautiful white flower.

**Sphene (Cereus' last name):** semi-precious yellow/green stone

**Roy (Constantine's father): **king in old French

**Selene (C' mom): **moon (Greek origin)

**Coraline:** semi-precious red coral growth

**Valerian: **Latin, means valiant

**Vicuña: **llama like animal with highly expensive wool.

**Chrysaor:** legendary sword that can cut through anything in Edmund Spencers' the Faerie Queene. Chrysaor is also the brother of Pegasus in Greek mythology.

* * *

**Please review.**


	28. Protected

**Thanks for your feedback on the previous chapters. You people make me see things I hadn't noticed. It's brilliant.**

* * *

_Date: Year 9, August. Three days after Mags' victory._

As the train doors opened, Mags felt like a prisoner set free. Salt and the tonic tang of algae invaded her lungs. The crisp sticky sea-breeze swooped in around her, enveloping her in a comforting and familiar mantle. Strident gull calls filled the skies, almost covering the rhythmic crashing of the waves, almost, but not quite.

A large smile split the seventeen-year-old's lips.

Her eyes glittering, Mags turned towards the tumultuous blue infinity stretching beyond the horizon. She bowed her head as one would greet a mentor, paying her respects to the relentless entity which had once held her captive and later released her, bereft yet strengthened, strong enough to build the world she wanted.

Surprised by the lack of human activity, she looked around her. There was no one at the station, no one waiting for her. The peacekeepers assigned to the gates followed her with their eyes but didn't leave their posts.

A thousand bubbles of mirth filled Mags' insides and overrode every other feeling. She spun on her feet, laughing like a child, until her balance failed her and her head spun. She let herself fall to the ground and kicked off her shoes. Cross-legged on the edge of the path and basking in the sunlight, she simply gazed at the rolling waves, savoring the scent of home, the thrill of being alive.

Mags had told her mother, and only her mother, the time of her arrival. Even after seventeen years, the woman never failed to surprise her. Apprehension had weighted down Mags' stomach at the thought of having to walk past the assembled district, meeting the eyes of neighbors, acquaintances and friends as she made her way home, but instead, she was blessedly alone.

Mags shivered lightly when a shadow blocked the sun.

A white-clad Angelites Abalone let herself fall on the sandy ground next to her daughter. Mags was momentarily stunned, unable to tear her eyes away from the ocean, afraid this was a dream, that she was still stuck in the sewers and that her mother would vanish as soon as Mags tried to touch her. Her mother, sitting next to her, nothing threatening them, it was too beautiful to be real. Mags realized her vision had blurred and her fingers were trembling.

"You never were one for crowds, Mags," Angelites said in soft tones. "Esperanza is waiting for you at six, everyone else at eight, but you don't have to turn up," Angelites' voice cracked, and Mags could hear how hard her mother was trying to say what she had to say without losing her fragile composure.

Mags had to struggle not to close the last inches between the two of them, not until her mother had stopped speaking, for Mags knew that then, they would be unable to do anything other than weep. She slowly turned her bright eyes on the woman. The familiar tanned face, soulful dark eyes and tumbling black curls half hidden beneath a wide-rimmed hat was the most wonderful sight Mags could ever remember seeing. She felt like she was nine again, standing on the reef and about to be rescued after those terrible months spend stranded.

"Anyone who didn't talk to you before the Games can do us the pleasure of sending a letter if they want to start being chummy with you now that you're all rich and famous," Angelites finished, outrage at the mere idea anyone would want to take advantage of her vulnerable daughter etched on her tanned face.

A helpless grin blooming on Mags' cheeks and she threw her arms around her mother, burying her face in the crook of the woman's neck. She felt tears spill from her eyes when her ribs threatened to break under the force of her mother's hug. She wanted to stay there forever, nestled in that cocooning embrace, and forget about the world, about her responsibilities, about what she had done. Mags so desperately wished never to cause the brave woman holding her any more pain and her shoulders began to shake in earnest, because she knew she would fail. Her mother was proud of her, that Mags knew, but she didn't want her mother simply proud, she wanted her _happy_. Angelites had lost and sacrificed so much, and now had to live with her daughter facing the greatest dangers Panem had bred. Mags _needed _a successful rebellion. She wanted to see her mother glow again, like she had glowed when she and her husband had thought the districts were winning and decided to name the new baby Esperanza, _hope_.

"And you didn't even have to kill another tribute," Angelites whispered after an age had passed, rubbing Mags' back with one hand. "You missed half the fun, daughter of mine."

Mags squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, feeling like something was unraveling inside her. She knew her mother had killed people during the rebellion. They'd talked about it at length when Mags had first spoken of volunteering; about the nightmares, about the difference between shooting a stranger who'd just burst into your hideout and executing the traveling companion that had been about to betray you. Mags wondered if she'd ever be able to be sarcastic about murder, or if she even wanted to, but she knew her mother understood. And because Angelites understood, Mags couldn't begin to fathom just how much letting her daughter volunteer for the Games had hurt her.

Mags slightly pulled away, tears still pouring down her face. "Why lie to Esperanza?"

Any trace of flippancy fled Angelites' face. The dark-haired woman lifted her hand and cradled her daughter's cheek. Her own eyes were shining with unshed tears.

"Many things cross our minds in times of grief and terrible choices. I have two children to protect. Esperanza will notice your pain but is too young not to take it personally if you push her away. I needed to see you first," Angelites' voice dropped to a husky whisper, "to see how you are, Mags." The woman's hand didn't leave Mags' cheek, as if some force threatened to snatch her daughter away were she to let go.

_I will protect her. I will protect both of you. _The unspoken promise sent new strength sizzling up Mags' veins. She had someone else she could rely on once again. She wasn't alone.

Mags wiped her tears awkwardly as she climbed to her feet and grinned as she helped her mother up.

"You're still allowed to cuff me if you think I'm out of bounds, Mamá. No one wants to hear my victor angst here anyway."

The shapely woman planted a loud kiss on Mags' cheek. "As long as we're clear on that," she said, her eyes brightening once more and her grip on her daughter's arm almost bruising. The woman held her close, as if she wanted to hide Mags under her clothes and never let her out again.

Despite the risk of them stepping on each other's feet, Mags was careful not to pull away. Angelites would not voice her fears, not until Mags was better, because the woman retained in unworthy of a mother to inflict her sorrows on her own vulnerable child, but Mags was not blind to them.

_You'll always be my mother, I won't ever push you away, I'll always let you help me._

Mags hoped her whole being conveyed her feelings.

They walked in silence, arm in arm and Mags warily began to count the seconds until her mother would crack and say what was on her mind. She was now glad Esperanza wasn't there, for she knew she could not have spoken freely in front of her little sister. Esperanza was much too young.

Mags missed a step, suddenly feeling criminally selfish for taking comfort in the silence. Angelites had only news of Mags through the recaps, those flawed packs of propaganda, she had to be desperate for the truth but was keeping silent because she didn't want to upset her daughter further. Mags briefly hated herself for taking advantage of her mother's selflessness like that.

"I didn't have nightmares because I was on drugs," Mags began, the words tumbling out of her mouth like a school of fish fleeing a ripped net, "I... I feel so terrible about Constantine and especially Fife, because Fife wanted to live so badly and I feel like I betrayed her even if I never pretended I would put her first, ever. Constantine... He thought I deserved a chance."

Angelites tightened her grasp on her daughter but did not interrupt. Mags didn't dare look away from her feet, because she knew she would not be able to talk further if she saw her mother's expression.

"And_ I_ agree with that," Mags added pointedly, "but I hadn't imagined the pressure not to screw up would be so bad. I feel like I knew them but also like I didn't truly, and it's ... it hurts, Mamá. I met so many people, brilliant people, and I'll never see them again and they're probably dead and if they're not, they probably hate me," Mags said, the words tumbling out in a gasp and her fists clenching painfully at the thought. Yet maybe she deserved it, for not having found a way to help the next rebellion that wasn't rooted in lies and hypocrisy. "I told Achlys they were cowardly hypocrites who had brainwashed each other!" She spat, disgusted. "Achlys thinks I'm genuine and she doesn't seem to want to make my life difficult, but I can't have anyone except you know the truth, except I'm terrified that I'll fail to do any of the things I won for if everyone hates me."

Mags took a deep breath, afraid she was turning blue from lack of oxygen. So many things to say that she didn't know how to say properly. She felt furious and weary, betrayed and guilty but also relieved, and the mix was such a tangle that she feared her words came out as clipped and cold despite every sentence concealing a string of memories that stuck to her soul like shells to a hull.

"The people I k..." Mags inhaled again, willing the terrible words out, "I_ killed_ were hijacked," she said, "the scavengers really ate people, they were completely out of their minds, and I'm glad I shot Wickers before they got to him. I couldn't let them have him!" She clenched her fists again, rage turning her ragged breathing into a muted growl. "Lila was a good person. I don't care what they said."

Mags struggled to put the jumbled memories crushing her chest into words. "I blew up people. And I threw a trident at Jay during training because he called me a Career but he was right and I _am_ a Career, even if I wasn't nasty about it," she said, feeling dirty just at the thought, yet it was nothing compared to the guilt she felt for what she was about to reveal, "I tried to convince Constantine to die for Teal because it made me feel better, because it distracted me from the fact I had decided I deserved to win more than anyone else. It's my fault Keane had his eyes open and the Capitol found out about the bombs." Mags closed her eyes, her lips forming a tight line. "That part was edited, don't ask me about it, Achlys explicitly told me to shut up about that. "

Mags clicked her mouth shut when her brain caught up with her words. She repressed the urge to slam her head against the nearest lamp-post, feeling stupider by the second. She was going to put everyone in danger by blabbing like a child.

After a tight pause, Mags forced a smile, desperately wanting to say something that would heighten her mother's spirits instead of dumping a load of suffering on her. "Esperanza won't get reaped," she said, her smile slowly blooming into something genuine, "Vicuña swore family was taken out of the reaping bowl."

A relieved chuckle escaped Angelites' lips, but her eyes were hard. She was no fool and could see the subtext as clearly as Mags. "Our esteemed President knows how to negotiate, doesn't she?"

Mags grimaced at the understatement, helpless rage filling her at the thought that her every rebellious thought put her little sister, her whole family, in mortal danger. "Yes. She wants me happy and loyal. Like Vicuña." Mags frowned and lifted her head, suddenly pinpointing something that had been bothering her. "Vicuña was much too serene to be real. Achlys has been talking a lot with her and I think Vicuña lets herself believe her because it makes her feel better."

Mags then finally locked eyes with the all too quiet woman listening to her ramblings. "Mamá, I _blew up_ some people. I threw dynamite on _kids_. Falcon was a Scavenger, but he was like ten. Maybe he could have been free with the group Styx interviewed," she said, wanting her mother to shout at her. She certainly felt like shouting at herself.

Angelites caressed Mags' hair again, her lips set in a tight and awkward smile. "I know, I saw it, and I agree it's a big deal. I also have heard they were either hijacked or sick in the head, that your life was in danger, and that the Capitol would have killed the ones they had no more use for, so I forgive you Mags," she said, her fingers trembling as badly as her voice, but Mags saw absolute conviction in her beautiful dark eyes.

"I'm sorry I took drugs," Mags blurted. Everything she said seemed to be an apology. She didn't understand why she felt the need to say it. The sleeping pills were ridiculous compared to everything else and yet it clawed at her, as if she was a coward for taking the easy way out.

This time her mother scoffed in earnest. "Should a lame man be sorry for having crutches? Should people refuse an anesthetic at the dentist's to feel tough? You are hurt Mags, medicine is not only excusable, it is _necessary_. You must rest if you wish to have the strength to cope, take those pills."

Mags was ashamed to be so relieved by her mother's words. It wasn't fair to get away with it so easily. "I could have eaten Fife and you'd still forgive me," she said in weak tones, wondering why the thought upset her. She should be thrilled to be forgiven, but a part of her felt forgiveness also had to be earned.

Angelites rolled her eyes, a loving smile on her lips. "Had you been starving, yes, I'd still forgive you. You are my daughter and I raised you well enough to know you would never do such a thing lightly. Life doesn't always offer you easy ways out, Mags." Angelites pulled her back into a tight hug, keeping Mags' hair out of her eyes with a hand. "I will never stop taking care of you," she said thickly, "You'll have enough condemnation from other people. If the idea of having some fool insult you soothes your guilt, you are being absurd."

A flush crept up Mags' cheeks. She had been thinking exactly that.

"How can you be like that?" She said, shaking her head in awe as a little smile escaped her lips. It was unbelievable. "Okay with everything and…"

"I had days to play this conversation over, Mags. Trust me, I was _much_ less calm during the recaps." An innocent grin lit Angelites' face, erasing the previous tightness. "I polished my _perfect mother_ angle before you arrived."

"So you're faking?" Mags teased. Her voice was such a pitiful croak and her smile was so hopeful that Mags felt pathetic.

"_Faking_?"

Mags winced as her mother's hand lightly collided with the back of her head.

"I will never let you grow complacent," Angelites seriously said, switching to Spanish as she grasped her daughter's shoulders. "We are rebels, we do what we must. You remain more innocent than a fair few of the people I call friends. You're a good person, Mags, you deserve to be happy."

Mags smiled, afraid she was going to cry again. "What have people been saying?" She asked.

"Mostly that you were a tool and that you did what you had to do. You are only seventeen. They will not hate you for not having spat on Achlys' face. Every eye was on the rebels, not on you. You did well not to have anything to do with Delphin Vega's death. People will not come to speak of rebellion with you, not for years at least, but, Mags," Angelites said, pain mixed with understanding swirling in her eyes, "does that truly matter?"

_Years. _

"No, it doesn't…" Mags sighed, feeling weary to the bone. "You _knew_," she said, "you knew there wouldn't be a rebellion for ages."

Anger flushed Angelites' face. "I waited thirty years for the first rebellion, Princess," she said, her voice thick with anguish. "thirty!" Angelites dropped her gaze and forced a smile when she turned back to Mags. Mags swallowed, almost wishing her mother would let her bear some of her pain. Yet Mags was humble enough to know that she didn't have enough emotional strength left. The Games had sucked her dry.

"We will start from scratch if we must," Angelites said, determination ringing in her every word. "Have some faith, nothing is ever easy. We are more patient than the Capitol."

"Cestodae," Mags whispered heatedly. "It's _Cestodae._"

She wished her mother could have met Chickaree and Sylvan. Surely the two would have had a thousand tales to tell them. A part of her even regretted that the Games had been so quick. She wished she could have spent more time with the rebels, to safeguard some of their knowledge and memories.

The young woman turned towards the houses facing the path and wondered if any of the rebels she had met had come to District Four to hide. Or had been sent back by the Capitol. She realized someone was staring at them.

The shirtless gray-haired man, which Mags only knew by sight, dropped his gardening tools. He rushed towards them, having at least the discretion not to shout. "Mags? We were told eight PM!"

"My bad," Angelites said tersely, wrapping an arm around her daughter's shoulders. The fiercely protective glint in her dark eyes made the man step back and raise his hands in apology.

"Well, I guess we'll have a hundred occasions to catch a glimpse of you around here," he said, wiping sweat out of his eyes.

"I'll be living in one of those beautiful unused houses off there, while some people still sleep under tents." Mags said with a small deprecating smile as she gestured towards the empty 'Victors' Village' sitting on one of the cliffs above the sea. How disgusting that she would be rewarded for her actions, yet it was that reward that would hopefully contribute to the capitol's downfall. _No, not hopefully. It had to._

The man's cracked lips split into a wry smile. "I hear it comes with a private beach. Just how rich are you, now?"

Mags frowned, her mind suddenly blank. "I… I don't know," she admitted.

_Was there enough to hasten the eradication of the post-war slums and offer everyone a house within a couple of years? _Prefabricated homes were sent over from District Seven, but maybe Mags could at least get the materials sent to Four and teach the jobless people how to build homes.

Mags' frown grew more pronounced as she had an idea. People who knew woodworking had picked it up during the war, because it wasn't a district trade, but the Capitol could not punish a man for fixing his roof as long as he didn't get paid for it_. If people could learn to be self-sufficient…_

"Word will get around when we find out, Mr. Sandler," Angelites said.

Luckily, most people were still either at work or at school, so the two women managed to avoid encountering anyone else.

Mags thought her cheeks would split from smiling too hard when they finally reached the crooked wooden house she had spent the second half of her childhood in. They had been lucky to have an intact home after the war. It had been her grandparents', before they had passed away. Mags felt almost sorry to move out, but the quicker she did, the quicker a homeless family could move in. There were still about two hundred people on the waiting lists, lists which had reached the thousands after the war.

"Don't come inside," Angelites said with a small smile. "Esperanza has prepared a surprise. Wait in the tool shack. I'll make sure your sister doesn't alert the whole district with one of her high-powered squeals when she sees you."

Mags' eyebrows shot up in dismay. "The tool shack?" She said in disbelief, pointing at the crooked shed near the fence of their small garden. Her mother wanted her to go in the _tool shack_?

"Yes. _Now_," Angelites ordered with a rueful grin. "You'll just have to hide for ten minutes of so, it's already five PM."

Waiting crouched in the dark cramped space, a net-hook almost brushing her nose and a harpoon threatening to skewer her in half, the new victor pondered the meaning of irony. She then muffled a giggle with her hand.

_If it made Esperanza happy..._

* * *

**Author's note.**

**Poor Mags, having to hide in a tiny shack...^^ I will skip over her reunion with her sister and friends (I mentioned Dylana and Marlin a few times by name before, but nothing was really revealed), they'll appear later anyway and I don't want to write generic *awkward + hugs + it'll never be truly the same again but we'll try to keep close* reunion scenes. If someone insists and inspires me, I might, but otherwise, we'll skip to more interesting stuff.**

**Please review.**


	29. Strained bonds

**Thank you all for reviewing.**

* * *

_Date: Year 9, August. Five days after Mags' victory._

_Mags doesn't indulge, she's always making herself useful, always working so hard, _acquaintances and even Mags' friends often said.

They had really no idea. They were wrong to imply that Mags was a better person for not doing the minimum in a world where most of the surplus was stolen away to feed their gluttonous masters. The truth was that Mags was physically incapable of spending a whole day relaxing on the beach or making idle chatter with acquaintances while chewing on dried nori sticks. It was always there, the swirling gaping void, the feeling of uselessness that stole her sleep and peace of mind if she failed to build something, whether tangible or inter-personal on any given day. Angelites' greatest combat had not been the war, but showing her stubborn eldest to let her be a mother and accept to be taken care of.

This unquenchable thirst to be useful was the dark product of the rebellion. No matter how one could try to excuse it, Mags had been a load during the rebellion. Plans had had to be changed, compromises accepted, because the young child could not have kept up, and every single one of those sacrifices had buried itself in Mags' soul like a poisoned blade. Not once had her father or her uncle's family said a cross word to her about it, but she had seen the look in their eyes, the frustration at having to hold back, their bitterness when plans fit for adults but impossible with a child in tow were suggested. She had overheard more than any had suspected and had lost count of the times they had whispered, _we can't, not with Mags_. And worse, she had begun hating that they would not ask her to try harder and had been filled with an anger she had been too young to explain whenever her father expressed his pride. Pride meant that even her best was not good enough, that she was condemned to be a load.

Reason told Mags that Lazuli had been merely four years older than her and objectively less reliable, reason reminded her that Ebony had used the phrase 'No, Mags can't.' like an excuse. Ebony had hated the day to day realities of the rebellion even more than the Capitol itself. Yet reason failed to free Mags of that feeling of _debt _that made her analyze her every action. She had been a liability, but her father, her whole family, had believed her worth it.

She had to prove them right.

Day after day she _had to_. Ebony and Freya were dead, her aunt was dead, her father was dead, her uncle and Lazuli where Lord knows where, and now… Constantine and Fife had joined the list. Mags had even less time to waste on unfruitful pastimes. Indulgence was criminal when there was a better world to build, equivalent to desecrating the graves of all those who had lost their lives.

Esperanza knew her older sister better than anyone alive save Angelites. So instead of asking Mags to take a walk on the beach, it was barely dawn when Esperanza shook the slumbering victor awake.

Mags woke up to her sister's large smile, strained by the awkwardness that had been produced by the Games, but genuine and joyful enough to make Mags grin right back.

Mags pushed the sheets back and brought her knees to her chin. Her mind was suddenly confused as she failed to recognize the room she was in. Sunlit and spacious, with seashells decorated lintels and the breeze of air conditioning made the heat comfortable. Hardwood instead of rubber graced the floors, and for a terrible second Mags thought to be in the Capitol. It was too neat. Where were the familiar whitewashed walls curling from repeated exposure to moisture? The stifling one-window room that only caught the sun in the late evenings?

"Mags, stop driving yourself nuts, you're home." Esperanza said, grabbing the older girl's chin and forcing Mags' head to turn so their eyes would meet.

Such huge dark eyes, so alike her mother's yet brighter, lighter, more innocent. Eyes that sung of safety and protection and that were quite treacherous on her little sister's face. Mags didn't want to stifle Esperanza and prevent her from blooming into an independent person, but she remained the one who had to do the protecting, no matter how much Esperanza looked like the fierce woman who had given birth to them and fought day after day to raise her daughters with strong values in a country which favored the meek and selfish.

Esperanza grasped Mags' nightdress. "So you're building a school right?"

Mags gazed at her, unfocused. Esperanza had always overestimated Mags' mental agility in the morning, and the sleeping pills hardly helped Mags' wits. She was still lost in thoughts, remembering how they'd moved their few valued possessions to their mother's chosen victor house with Marlin the day before.

Marlin, short and stout, and the most constant and solid person Mags knew, had barely said a word during those five hours and simply lugged furniture around stared a lot. He'd hugged Mags whenever she had failed to mask how nervous the staring made her, but the awkward silence had endured. The rope-seller's boy had never been one to chat, so Mags had not been surprised by his sudden distance. She reckoned he was helping out to show they were still friends but he hadn't yet figured out how he really felt about her now. Dylana's widowed grandfather had fallen dangerously ill during the Games, so Mags didn't hold her other friend's absence against her. Their reunion had been loaded but too short to warrant the name of conversation. Dylana had apologized profusely for not being able to stay, eyes misty from emotion and stress, and Mags had sent her home within five minutes with enough money to get medicine.

Mags reminded herself to visit later in the day.

"Big Sis, wake up!"

Mags blinked as the frustrated order pierced through her musings.

"Sorry, I'm back on Earth," Mags said, swinging her legs into a seated position and grabbing her sister's hand. She kissed Esperanza's cheek. "What did you ask me?"

"You're building a school," the twelve-year old repeated, "and you want both us and Capitol people to approve of it." Esperanza bit her lower lip, a telltale sign she had questions but was unhappy by the way they were formulated in her head. "You never were a liar. What's all this helping both the people and the Capitol thing? If we suddenly make double the food, they'll take everything we don't need for survival."

Mags winced. She'd known that she'd have had answers to provide after the euphoria of having her back had faded a bit. She doubted she'd ever feel prepared.

"We have more than we need for strict survival," she began, aware the Capitol could do much worse to them if it wanted them truly oppressed.

Mags remembered the horrible pictures they had been shown of concentration camps at school. The President had wanted them to learn what a real uncaring and cruel government was, to prove the Capitol's goodwill. The dead-eyed skeletal men, the gas chambers and common graves, the teachers and children killed for having no useful skill… All of it had given Mags' nightmares.

"We aren't allowed to keep as much as we'd deserve but we're a fit people," she continued, "we -"

"Because fit people produce more, so it's good for the Capitol too," Esperanza interrupted, worry and confusion entering her eyes.

Mags' lips twisted as she realized that she did sound as if she was making excuses for the Capitol. She paused, trying to remember how mature she'd been at twelve and how much she could tell Esperanza without putting her in a terrible position.

"People were speaking during the Games. They said you weren't a rebel anymore," Esperanza added, staring at the floor in anger.

Mags tensed. She hadn't had the courage to turn up at Mayor Bream's house two days before and now dreaded public appearances even more. Her mother had gone in her place, to remind people that Mags had been through a lot and needed some privacy, but Mags knew she'd soon have to publicly give a solid reason for having volunteered.

"What did you tell them?" Mags whispered, hugging Esperanza tighter as if it would guarantee her sister would always be on her side. She couldn't even bear to think about a falling out between them.

An angry flush crept up Esperanza's cheeks. "Nothing," she sullenly said, "because Mama said that breaking your angle would be like murdering you."

Mags' eyebrows flew up to her hairline in dismay. Listening to people insult your sister without defending her was bad enough, seeing her kill people and turned into a Capitol tool was worse, but being told you were moreover responsible for her survival? Mags suddenly understood what her mother had meant when she'd said she had been much less calm during the recaps. A sliver of guilt crawled up Mags' throat at the thought she'd cause the brave woman so much worry that she'd been harsh with Esperanza.

Esperanza's grip on Mags' arm was as tight as a clamped oyster. "Is it true?" the girl asked, her voice trembling. "They'd kill a victor?"

Mags pulled her sister on her knees and her throat constricted as Esperanza didn't protest that she was too big for such treatment. There seemed to always be someone holding on to Mags since her return to Four, as if she'd vanish into thin air were they to let go, not that she minded. But it showed how terrified they still were to lose her and it broke Mags' heart to know Esperanza lived in with that crushing, strength-sapping fear. This was not how things were supposed to be.

Hate burned bright in Mags' veins as she imagined the Capitol, that towering fortress city, breathing in deeply like a vampire of marble and ivory, thriving on the fear and mistrust infecting the Districts, and feasting on suffering and death.

"They're not watching me too closely right now," Mags whispered, her face a mask of stone. "President Achlys wants the two of us to work hand in hand, but, should I give them one reason to doubt me, I could become a prisoner. I'd be rich but they would forbid me to spend my money like I'd want to, they'd monitor my every words and action. They'd have no qualms about harming people I care about."

Mags forced the anger out of her tone, made uneasy by Esperanza's anguished expression. The victor was desperate to prove that her family still meant the word to her, that she would always be there for them. And that she would keep them safe without betraying everything she lived for.

"I haven't changed that much Esperanza," she said, kissing her sister's hair in a silently plea to be heard, "but Peacekeepers will be paying attention to what I do, to what is said about me."

Esperanza stood up, disentangling herself from Mags' hold. Mags' face fell at the loss of contact but her sister was staring at the window, the same mix of anger and anguish creasing her too-young face.

"So we can't trust people anymore? Even those we knew are like us?" She said, her voice thick from the injustice of it all. "We must let them think you're some dog for the Capitol or they'll kill Marlin?" Esperanza's voice fell to a squeak as she turned back to Mags and grasped her hand once more. "Or _me_?"

Mags silently ground her teeth together, her green eyes planted into her sisters'. No one would touch Esperanza.

"I don't need to be liked, or even respected by people I hardly know to do what I must now do," she said with a quiet confidence that seemed to lessen Esperanza agitation. "And, Esperanza, if they kill you, their hopes of even the slightest collaboration on my part will be turned to ash." Mags' face darkened further, her voice raw with menace, as she stood up to put her arms around her sister, daring anyone to step between them. "Not killing me at that point, would be _extremely_ foolish. Achlys, curse her, is much too clever to threaten you or Mama."

Esperanza nodded, a ghost of a smile on her ashen face. "So I'll let people talk and just tell them to stop waiting for others to do the job for them if they want something to be done about Panem?"

Mags winced again, aware she'd be unable to stop Esperanza from seeking confrontations. "Don't get into too many fights. You'd really help me by convincing them they've more to gain than the Capitol by letting me build an academy."

Mags loathed the idea of having peacekeepers guard the old desalinizing factory she wanted to convert into her still nameless academy, the message would be all wrong, but not having guards would mean having the building at the mercy of any hothead with a torch. There were too many people who now believed her to be the enemy.

Esperanza nodded, her distaste still obvious. "I'll try not to let it get to me." Her tone turned eager. "So what exactly will this academy be about?"

* * *

The desalinizing factory had not survived the war and was only a carcass of what it once had been, but the main building was still erect and far enough from the beach to be practical. They would salvage the useless material and have the building ready by the end of spring if all went well. Nine months seemed eons away, but despite her outrageous new wealth, she couldn't work miracles.

Mags, accompanied by Esperanza, was walking around the former factory, explaining her plans to Mayor Bream and his serious-looking young assistant who committed everything in her notebook.

The postmaster had come to see the victor in the early morning. People usually had to go retrieve their mail in the post office, but he looked very curious to have a glimpse at her house. The single letter was from Achlys, listing the Capitol contacts she would need to begin the construction works or to buy some goods, clothes, medicine, luxuries, she would want. She had sent back a carefully worded thank you note, feeling torn. Such a list would save her time, but also force her to go through people favored by the President.

At least she would know who was in Achlys' good graces.

"Deep diving, whaling, deep-sea fishing…" Major Bream was saying. He paused, his voice dropping. "You have not mentioned any meteorological study."

Mags' eyes flew open. She hadn't even thought about meteorology.

"He's right," Esperanza exclaimed, "weren't all the labs destroyed because we used the radars as weapons against the Capitol air force?"

A calculating glint entered Mags' eyes. Meteorology, the perfect opportunity to finally learn physics and be less at the mercy of Capitol technology, how could she have overlooked that? Her face darkened, _how could she,_ considering how often deadly storms, and even tornadoes left a trail of bodies on their paths?

"I'll negotiate it with President Achlys," she answered, "I don't know how sensitive of a subject it is."

"Don't bother if she doesn't want to," the mayor quickly said. The sharp-eyed authoritative man before her had turned into a nervous boy at the mere mention of the President's name.

Mags stiffened, now afraid he'd sell her out were she to hint that the academy would also be training grounds. The mayor would not have stayed mayor so long were he not sufficiently sympathetic to the Capitol.

Mayor Bream cleared his throat. "Why do you need so much space for deep-sea sailing, Mags? We already have planned out space dedicated to rope-work, hull maintenance, building flares, operating machinery and all types of food conservation. Most people can learn this from the sailors. We should expand all types of recycling to have artisans that don't have to buy new material from other districts, like you said."

_Don't advertise that detail too much! _Mags inwardly snapped, feeling the urge to scowl. They had to look docile to the Capitol, not sound like they wanted to topple the district separation of skills system.

"They won't learn it as well. There isn't a single sailor who's a specialist in it all," Mags said, readjusting Esperanza's tight grip on her arm. "Storms kill dozens of sailors every year, even those who own solid deep-sea vessels. I want people to be prepared for extreme weather, and at sea, that means being able to work a full night in the dark on a rocking boat without getting almost any sleep. I also want Four to build more schooners, or we'll have none left in ten years, and that means teaching people to work in a team of twenty on a cramped space for weeks at a time."

"Circe, you'd be teaching psychology too?" Bream said, arching a bushy eyebrow. "Some tough people that'll come out of your school," he said with a chuckle.

The man looked quite pleased with the whole project. Mags felt assessed like a valued tool whenever the mayor's blue eyes rested on her and it made her unable to like the man, but she preferred this to suspicion, or even the pity and disgust she had glimpsed in some citizens' eyes as they'd walked through town.

"What about harpoons and tridents?" Esperanza asked, looking at the steel rods lying in a heap.

Mags threw her a stern glance, unamused by her 'subtle' reference to training. She wanted people to become strong and self-reliant, not to volunteer, but pretending this was all for the glory of the Games as well as the prosperity of the District - and therefore the Capitol - was what would keep the academy open in the years to come, and Mags had no illusions that every generation would have its share of desperate or foolish teenagers eager for a chance to train and volunteer.

"That's fishing games for kids," the mayor replied, "they give you muscles but learning to swim clothed toughens you up just as well and will doubtless save more lives, even rope climbing is more useful."

"But it's fun, and a little competition is always a great motivator," Mags said, thinking she would have to see who in Marlin's family would be the best at imparting their knowledge on ropes and nets.

"You're going to pit a mutt-shark against naked lads holding harpoons to teach them all about keeping their cool?" The mayor said with a half-smile.

"I was thinking more along the lines of teaching people to break free quickly out of nets," Mags seriously said, "People died, trapped underwater, when everyone was trying to catch the migrating stingrays."

The memory of the accident cast a shadow on Bream's face. "Gladiator fights with nets and tridents?" He suggested after a pause.

Mags frowned, made uneasy by the slight bite in his tone, was he testing her? Had he received instructions from Achlys?

"Four's industry is the sea but we are using only a fraction of what resources we have," she said.

Everyone worked full days, but qualified jobs were rare and most people scrounged a living despite having the potential to do much better.

"How long has it been since a ship has sailed in deep seas or a diver harvested the pearl oysters of the Trench? Our boats are old and unsafe, the repairs are poorly done and we waste good wood to patch rotten ships that will sink soon," Mags pursued, her voice rising in distress, "Master shipwrights are ageing, and ageing too fast because they must do the jobs of younger men to sustain themselves and the younger men must fix their boats themselves because the shipwrights are too busy fishing. So the boats are badly fixed and there is less fish for everyone."

Mags' lips twitched at the end of her tirade: Esperanza was looking at her as if she'd just invented fire. She wrapped an arm around her and pointed at the sun lit entrance. "I'll be putting a statue of myself right there," she joked in low tones, tearing a snort from the younger girl.

"And you can now invest what we needed to break out from this downwards spiral. Good work, young lady," Bream said, a broad smile making him look ten years younger. "So if it's shipwrights you want to help, why all this talk about educating youngsters?"

Mags frowned, realizing all this talking had made her review her plans. Bream was right.

"We'll have adult courses first. We need teachers anyway and it's more urgent, but we should give a chance to the gifted teenagers who have no other opportunities, recruit by interview for the first class. I think we can handle fifty adults and twenty teenagers in total at first, to experiment, but while we're building the locales, I'll need to find my first specialists in the different branches."

"You'll be doing a lot of walking and talking, few people live inland but the coast in one long trek."

Mags shrugged. "I had no job before I volunteered, just errands."

Almost everyone older than fourteen who wasn't apprenticed had a full-time job, but qualified jobs were rare and most people scrounged a living despite having the potential to do much better. Her mother had been in charges of sales back in One, organizing auctions for their tapestries and negotiating the best prices. She was also a skilled weaver, but in Four, she had only found an accountant and administrative job in the bio-fuel farm that sent their algae to Five's factories, and only because she had proven to be twice as efficient as any of the farm owner's cousins. Had the man's two sons not had a job, Angelites would have had to look for employment elsewhere.

"I'll find people to help me with the recruiting," Mags said, eyeing the old building confidently.

* * *

A disheveled Dylana opened the door and sighed, her exhaustion deepening when she recognized Mags.

"I'm sorry, Mags. The timing of everything is just _ugh," _Dylana said, beating her fist against the door. "We really need to talk but Grandpa is raving and he's such a pain when he's ill. I'm the only person he allows to touch him, something about Dad being too rough." Dylana sighed, rubbing her tired eyes with one hand. "And if Dad tries to help anyway, Grandpa spouts all the nasty things he can think of about dad, and I don't mean embarrassing, I mean hurtful stuff. I never expected anyone to be so stupidly proud when pushing a fever hot enough to boil eggs."

Mags nodded briskly, hiding her disappointment behind a compassionate smile. She placed a hand on the taller girl's arm, aching to hug her friend, to tell her how glad she was to have her. "I can come back, Dee. Family's always the priority."

"Yup,_ family…_ They're all getting so old around me. Where's a sib' when you need one?" Dylana said with a yawn. Her brown eyes narrowed and her tone grew reproachful. "I'm kinda glad you didn't tell your sister you were going to volunteer, I'd have taken it even worse," she said, crossing her arms.

"Dee," Mags began, afraid of the anger darkening her friend's round face.

Mags wasn't surprised by it at all. Dylana had always been a dormant volcano, deceptively brittle with her willowy frame and frail health but prone to lashing out with great passion against anything she found unjust. She had been a serious child, uninterested in playing make believe with the other children but keen to change the real world into something nicer. Mags and Dylana had understood each other without words, but where Mags was a careful planner, Dylana was loud and honest. Mags had kept her from crossing the line that would have her branded for insolence, but because of Dylana's utter disdain for deceit, Mags knew the other girl would never see through the web of lies Mags had now to live by without it being explicitly pointed out to her.

Mags was afraid, for she knew that every day she delayed, Dylana's frantic thinking would lead her towards conspiracy theories on how Mags had volunteered as a result of having been hijacked during the spring. Dylana was quite capable of thinking that Mags had been literally reprogrammed. Her imagination knew no bounds, and she blamed the Capitol for bad weather and scraped knees. It wasn't a big deal when Mags was there to be the reasonable one, to drive Dylana to act rather than trap herself in a web of unproductive hate, but now Mags feared the poisonous seeds of doubt sowed by the recaps in Dylana's mind.

A wheezing call from the inside turned into a wet, dangerous-sounding cough. A cough which wasn't stopping.

Mags' voice trailed off, her face blanching as she suddenly realized Dylana could very well be about to lose her grandfather. She'd spent the last days on a little cloud, but death was a reality of life, not just of the Games.

"I can't stay with you right now," Dylana mouthed, worry creasing her face. She suddenly grabbed Mags by the shoulders. "Mags, can't you get Capitol meds brought over? It's pneumonia but it's like headache for them."

Dylana's frantic gaze was inches from hers and Mags dropped her gaze to the floor. _Could she?_ Mags didn't want to become the new District Four wishing well. She needed to spend her money wisely, to invest, or it would just be sucked up by the misery, a bit of food here, some medicine there, and nothing would change for good.

"You can't?" Dylana said, as her lips began to tremble. Her voice was steadily rising to a shout. "They give you money but you can only spend it on stupid stuff?"

Mags lifted her eyes back up, her guilty indecision giving way to furious certainty. This was Dylana. There was no way Mags' first decision would be to let her best friend's grandfather die.

"No, I can," she said, "I'll be as quick as I can. I promise."

"Good," Dylana said, flashing her a weak smile. She shut the door and raced back to her grandfather's side.

Mags stood rooted for a few seconds, her arms falling limp by her side, as if waiting for goodbyes that would not come. She suddenly wished she were bundled in her new feather bed and hadn't insisted that Esperanza go out with her friends like every Saturday afternoon. Being alone under the scorching sun was suddenly unbearable.

Mags knew she was reading too much into Dylana's briskness. Dee hadn't slept in days, her grandfather was _dying _and Mags hadn't helped by volunteering, yet the guilt and worry gnawing at Mags were screaming for attention and overrode any rational argument. Of course Dylana was cold. Mags had planned out her whole future without piping a word. Dylana had thought Mags had been improving her snares and using harpoons for the same reason she had, because it was fun to get away with handling weapons while pretending they were spearing tuna, and because the exercise toughened their bodies and cleared their minds.

Mags was reaping what she had sowed.

Feeling dejected, and more depressed at every quick glance –or unabashed stare- thrown her way by passersby, Mags dragged her feet towards victor's village. She instinctively came to a stop in front of a familiar lichen-covered house. Her spirits lifted slightly upon hearing the laughter coming from the garden. Marlin and his older siblings were fooling around on the hanging ropes they'd tied to every asperity they could find like they had no care in the world.

Marlin stopped as he saw her, and while his smile fell, he was quick to reach her side.

"Are you alright?" He said, extending his hand but not quite touching her arm. His brown eyes were wide in concern but his whole body held back. He nervously brushed rope fragments out of his sandy curls with his fingers as Mags hesitated to answer.

She inhaled, wishing she'd have the social skills to break the ice. "Walk me home, please? I just don't feel like being alone," Mags said, feeling more like a child with each passing second.

Marlin smiled, even if the awkward tightness in his face didn't disappear. "Of course, Mags."

A rush of affection made her smile back, and she realized that a part of her had expected a no.

When after a few silent minutes Marlin handed Mags his arm, like he had always done before, Mags almost burst into tears in relief. She straightened, ordering herself to stop doubting Marlin and to get over herself. Why one could have called the silence was _almost _comfortable.

It was her fault, Mags cynically thought. She'd only let herself grow close to moral, serious people who couldn't easily dismiss what she had done. Who was comfortable around a liar and a murderer, no matter their reasons?

A whirlpool of loss sucked the air out of her lungs as she realized both Fife and Constantine, short-time friends of necessity as they had been, would have been barely phased.

_But Fife and Constantine never were your friends,_ she scolded herself, holding tighter onto Marlin. Friends choose each other, there was no real choice but to get along in the Games. The three of them had learned to respect each other and the affection had been real, but friends shared your core values. Still, Mags mourned them just as much as she knew she would mourn Dylana.

Mags' look was one of sincere apology when Marlin squeezed her hand back.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Marlin finally said.

Mags forced herself to meet his eyes, now knowing the decisions she had made in the last months would have greater consequences than she had prepared herself for. "I didn't want to put you in the position of thinking you'd killed me if I failed. I didn't want to take any risks and you'd have either told your brother or felt in a horrible position for withholding something from him. Dylana can't keep a secret that big."

Marlin nodded in slow acceptance, a lost expression on his youthful face.

Mags looked down.

What had the Games done to her friendships? What had _she_ done?

* * *

**Author's note: I've read many fics that separate pre-Games friends into two groups: extremely loyal who know the right thing to say and are wholly supportive (I'm guilty of that too in Showdown), and those who turn their back on the tribute and are usually painted in a negative light. I'd like to think it's more complicated than that.**

**There will be happier chapters and sadder ones. I'm still open to ideas. **

**Please review.**


	30. Ambitions

_Date: Year 9, August. Eight days after Mags' victory._

Mags tied her golden-brown hair back properly and let her shoulders fall against the wooden rocking-chair. The wind simply didn't seem to stop this year.

The greenish-black tint to the far east sky made Mags scowl, thick disappointment coursing through her veins. Tornadoes. This one would strike inland, where almost no one lived, and was barely more than a strong summer gale, but it was a bitter reminder of Achlys' refusal. Mags had been careful, she'd not just mentioned weather forecasting but given the President the whole list of subjects instead, illustrating very practical, productive and non-threatening applications for all of them. Meteorology and, to her dismay, health and water analysis, had been vetoed 'until we can further discuss them' by the infuriating woman.

Why water analysis and not flares? Flares could have people knowing how to make dynamite and yet Mags had permission to teach it. Was the Capitol afraid they'd learn to make bacterial weapons if they were given tools to determine which zones were toxic and which weren't? Mags had just asked for the sample kits, not the technology behind it.

From her balcony on the cliff, Mags could see the town stretch out below. The animated harbor was full of busy workers and squealing children. Mags tightened her grasp on the thin armrests as she thought of those children splashing in the seawater that had been so terribly polluted during the rebellion. The fish had come back seven years ago, but only some species and in fewer numbers. Fishermen still complained today of bad harvest. The farms hadn't given a good harvest in a decade and there wasn't a sea urchin to be found on any rock. Sea urchins like clean water, and only clean water.

There had to be something they could do to make the waters safer! Who knew what filth had had been eating for the last years? Only the food that went to the Capitol was carefully purged of noxious elements.

Mags coughed, feeling her chest ache, and huffed in annoyance. Her mother had told her to take it easy and Mags was certain she'd been reasonable, yet in the last days she had started feeling exhausted before the sun had even set. Mags had been sleeping eleven hours a day. It was an utter waste of time.

An odd noise made her stand up abruptly. The victor walked up to the balcony rail, tensing as her eyes glimpsed a shadow. Somebody was climbing up from the ground floor. She stared in recognition, her alarm giving way to shock.

Surprise and curiosity shaking her out of her torpor, Mags rushed to give a hand to the auburn-haired girl. Mags' hadn't spoken to the other seventeen-year-old since she had left school, almost three years before. What was she doing here?

"Glynn, why are you climbing the wall?"

_The twenty foot tall wall of my house_, _and you could break your neck_, was heavily implied.

Glynn readily grasped Mags' hand and climbed over the balustrade. Her face split into an unabashed grin. "Because it's fun, Mags, and I didn't want to miss such an outstanding view of the town."

Mags' lips quirked at Glynn's sheer nerve, for it fit with what she remembered. Glynn had been a memorable fixture in her school years, a bright girl, a shameless know-it-all with a fearsome bluntness that delivered touching compliments as readily as biting insults, but also a big heart. Glynn had not been popular, but neither had she been an outcast. The outspoken girl had never seemed to care what people thought, which did little to dull her brusqueness. She had been the one reading textbooks in a corner or playing boisterous games with the guys, not much of a talker.

She had grown into quite the looker and Mags absently wondered if Glynn had a boyfriend. There were so many former acquaintances Mags occasionally saw in the streets but had no news of...

"I hear you're looking for people to find teachers for your school," Glynn said, enthusiasm lighting her expressive face, "I'm up for it."

Mags stared, stunned someone already had heard. The mayor had not made a public announcement yet and she'd seen him barely three days ago.

"News travel fast," she muttered, trying to guess what Glynn had been up to by observing her slightly calloused hands and well-drawn muscles. Glynn didn't have a swimmer's shoulders like the people who went to pick mollusks on the scattered reefs, but she wore her auburn hair short like a sailor and her arms had the toughness of regular hard work. The small dragon tattoo on her bare shoulder was also a sailor's mark, but Glynn had always worn many bracelets, making her own from the oddest things, so Mags couldn't be certain if it wasn't just pure vanity.

"It's not common knowledge yet, but I've been stalking you," Glynn said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "My brother Jett is friends with the mayor's daughter. I had him invite her over yesterday afternoon."

"Stalking me?" Mags repeated with arched eyebrows. The choice of words left her a little unsettled, Glynn gave her the impression of a cat ready to pounce.

"You could potentially become the most influential person in Four, Mags. It warrants stalking," Glynn said earnestly with her trademark cheerful yet smug smile. "I work flexible hours, so I had the time. Did we get a free pass for meteorology?"

Mags shook her head. "No, we didn't…" She leaned on the balustrade, trying to make sense of the situation. "So you want to go find people for me? Why? You're one of the few people who can afford to pay well to be apprenticed. Both your parents still work, don't they?" Mags said, now worried something had disrupted Glynn's enviable financial situation. Glynn's mother organized weddings and funerals, and was the town's unofficial marriage counselor, and her father was sought out by anyone who needed a boat engine fixed, neither was ever out of work.

"Yes, which is why I have the luxury of doing what I want to do," Glynn replied. "I want to find people for you because I want this academy of yours built, Mags. If I choose the people, I influence the results, and that's important, because it's the best thing that's happened to Four in a decade." She gestured towards the shipyards, where a three mast vessel was being fixed. "I'm to leave with the Swamp Fox before fall sets in, Captain Griffin wants me to draw a new map of the District coasts, all of them. I'll be spending time in every village from here to the border."

Mags nodded, a small smile blooming on her lips as she remembered Glynn's passion for drawing landscapes. The Harbour Master's Offices had been the first buildings to burn when the District had rebelled and most maps had been lost. The Swamp Fox was one of their best ships, maybe the best in town. It would be faster than anything Mags could hope to commandeer on short notice.

"I can also get you information on how things are there and how many people would be prepared to come to live here if it meant learning a good craft," Glynn pursued as Mags made a move to speak.

Mags let her gaze fall on the abandoned desalinization factory, a black spot against the yellow grass just at the edge of town. She smiled again, this time more strongly, warmed someone would be so quick to offer their full support. It seemed too good to be true. Mags eyed the short-haired teen before her, seeing only goodwill and enthusiasm written on her comely face, but she was a little wary to take Glynn at face value. It seemed to her that the auburn-haired girl was trying too hard.

"Glynn, why did you climb my wall?" Mags repeated, not satisfied with the previous answer. Knocking at the door would have done the trick just as well.

Glynn smirked, as if Mags' questions were cute. "To catch you unprepared and not give you time to lie. And the view is magnificent," she added, embracing the scenery with her arms, "Should I spend some time with you and your mother before I leave? Since she used to sell expensive and objectively useless goods, selling teaching positions will be cake."

Mags furrowed her brow as Glynn stepped towards the open glass-door, suddenly recalling why everyone had found the girl pushy. Mags was extremely interested by Glynn's suggestions, but she had barely been able to get a word in and Glynn was already inviting herself in.

Mags new attempt at speech died in her throat as Glynn raised her hand in greeting at the tinted windows, causing a shapely figure to reveal herself by moving. Mags' eyebrows shot to her hairline as she saw her mother step out the door. How long had she been observing them?

"I can teach you how to sell the school," Angelites said, looking a little offended by the _objectively useless _comment about the tapestries the Peregrine family had woven and sold for generations in District One. The dark-haired woman then folded her arms across her chest. "_Stalking_, Glynn Corduroy?"

Glynn smiled, as if she was torn between mirth and apology. "People don't dare talk around you, but they talk around me. I think they all will flock to you, hoping to curry your favor and profit from your aura of riches, as soon as they get over the Games. By being quicker, I can make myself essential and make a difference in the District without even having to volunteer in a death match."

Mags bit hard on her teeth, highly bothered by the airy way Glynn phrased her answer. For some reason Glynn left her wanting to justify herself. "And you have no problem with the fact I volunteered?"

Glynn paused this time, her eyes going from the defensive young victor to the frowning mother standing closely behind her, as if prepared to bodily throw herself in front of her daughter would danger rear its head. A flash of frustration crossed Glynn's open features, as if she felt at a loss at how to reassure them of her goodwill. She toyed with her grass-woven bracelets as she carefully chose her words.

"I think it takes both the strong belief you have a destiny and a slight dose of insanity to volunteer," Glynn said, her lips breaking into a wry smile, "whatever you're doing, you're devoted heart and soul to it, Mags. That or you're hopelessly in love with a Capitolite and it was the only way for you two to have a future together, but you don't seem the type."

Mags winced, amusement and indignation warring inside her at Glynn's words. The Games were not a subject to treat lightly, yet Glynn's answer also revealed a touching amount of understanding. Mags found herself leaning back into her mother's soft form, afraid of what the all too straightforward girl would say next.

Glynn laughed softly, looking sorry to see them so tense. "Do your intentions even truly matter as long as we all have houses and jobs? People will stop remembering you for your Games and start thinking of you as the girl who built the academy soon enough." Glynn folded her arms across her chest. "Wasn't that the initial plan anyway?"

Mags stiffened which caused Glynn to roll her eyes. "Mags," she said with a sigh, "you gave the mayor precise instructions on this new academy, that went from the location to the detail of each subject, days after your return. It didn't all come to you in a dream."

"Stop that," Mags suddenly said, feeling assaulted despite the lack of malice in Glynn's words. Mags felt like she'd been pushed on a ride she hadn't signed up for. She lacked the time to think and felt the other was backing her into a corner by sheer force of personality, making everything sound much too straightforward.

Glynn remained silent and turned her eyes on the town below, awe glittering in her almond eyes.

Mags tried to put some order in everything the auburn-haired teen had told her. It was obvious Glynn had thought things through and was motivated, but…. Mags grasped the hand her mother had laid on her shoulder and threw her a questioning glance. The woman nodded to indicate she had no objections, although her brow remained furrowed at Glynn.

"I'd really like your help," Mags finally said, "What's your long term plan? Do you want to teach?"

Glynn cocked her head to the side, her eyes distant as she seemed to lose herself in possible futures. "I'd love to try it out," she said with a thoughtful smile. "I'm not sure what I want my job to be, but I like to change and interact with different people, so your academy sounds like a delightful sandbox."

"Mags will have authority over you," Angelites said, a note of warning in her voice.

Mags flashed her mother another glance, realizing she wasn't the only one who found Glynn destabilizing. The intent girl was much too comfortable with them for an ex-classmate and brought up sensitive subjects as if they were as mundane as the weather. A part of Mags was saddened by Glynn's attitude, because the girl was clever, practical and meant well, but because of her attitude, she had less friends than she deserved.

Glynn was too slow to conceal her smile properly behind her hand. She then nodded, growing much more serious. "Mrs. Abalone, I think you've taken people's walled off attitudes too personally. Those who say that upgrading our standard of living is eating from Achlys' hand aren't thinking. The Capitol already has a surplus of wealth. Their greed for more will open the gates to a more decent life for us. I'm here, on your balcony, because I can see Mags is doing this because she believes in it, not to get rid of money she feels guilty to own." Glynn turned to Mags, "call me uncaring, but what you did in the Games is between you and your conscience. I doubt you'll be going on a killing spree anytime soon, so you're no danger to me. What I want is a good specialist school where I can learn something."

Mags had winced at the comment on money and paled at the casual mention of a killing spree. The worse was that her intellect was telling her that Glynn had given her a compliment, but the way it was delivered made Mags feel exposed and vulnerable.

Her mother's hand tightened on her shoulder. "You're going to need tact to win people over, Glynn," she said tartly.

The lasts hints of a smile vanished entirely from Glynn's face. "_Killing spree_," she repeated without a trace of mirth, making Mags wince once more.

Glynn's face darkened with grim compassion. "You have no bags under your eyes Mags. Some say you're not affected by what's happened. I'd tell you to stop the sleeping pills for a couple of nights to prove to yourself the nightmares won't cripple you as much as you may fear."

"What do you know of nightmares?" Angelites cut in through gritted teeth, a strong protective ring entering her voice. "Don't you dare make my daughter feel like she's being weak for allowing herself to heal!"

Mags swallowed, her eyes on her own feet as shame filled her. People had noticed that she was taking pills?_ Had she started relying on the drugs too much?_

"I'm not even _implying_ it, Mrs. Abalone. People who recovered from a broken leg have to learn to walk again," Glynn replied without so much as blinking. "It's painful but necessary and waiting isn't a good idea. You're not a bad mother for having let her volunteer. You raised a hero, Mrs. Abalone." An excited smile split Glynn's lips. "I can't even believe it, myself! Things are going to change for the better for the first time since I can remember, because of _this_ family." Glynn's eyes locked with Mags'. "Well done," she said softly, and Mags could see there was not one ounce of levity in those words.

Mags was speechless. She couldn't believe how presumptuous Glynn, _barely an acquaintance_, was being. Glynn had plunged ungloved hands in her mother's raw wound, bringing to light her fears with an ease that was insulting, and slapped on a bandage. Angelites had flushed, her dark eyes a swirl of surfacing emotions and Mags truly thought her mother would strike Glynn, not out of anger, but like prey backed into a corner.

"Somebody needed to tell you," Glynn said with a small genuine smile, her hazel eyes now sad. "I _can_ be polite, tactful and flattering. But you're smart enough that it'd be a waste of effort. If I cross a line, shout at me, I'll get the message." Her lips curled into a smirk. "You'd have to truly want it to actually offend me."

That Mags didn't doubt. Glynn was incredibly thick-skinned.

Glynn paused, receiving only silence in answer and finally raised her hand in greeting. "I won't overstay my welcome," she declared, "You can have Esperanza give Jett a message when you've made your decision. Or hang your white sheets to dry out the window if you want it to be confidential," she said with a cheeky smile, "I'll be sailing off by mid September. Have a nice day."

Mags dumbly watched the short-haired girl climb down the balustrade, still too overwhelmed to speak.

Angelites breathed in, a tear escaping her eyes. She straightened her clothes, almost tearing them from the force of her grip. Mags put her hands over her mother's white knuckles. Something in her unraveled at the sight of tears from the woman who had given birth to her. It was one of those things that went against the established order, that should not _ever _happen. Mags swallowed back her own tears, scrambling for something to say.

"Tell me," Angelites said, her lips trembling, "does Glynn realize what she says?"

A hoarse chuckle escape Mags' lips. She now remembered why people with problems had fled Glynn like the plague. Mags couldn't get over the comment on the sleeping pills. She took a shaky breath. "Glynn believes that confronting everything head on is the way to go. Sometimes, she has no boundaries…. She never cared that people resented her advice, but she was thirteen back when I knew her best," Mags allowed. "Glynn has no humility," Mags muttered, her eyes on the fit figure jogging down the cliff, "but she wants to help and I remember her as a perfectionist who kept her word. She's smart and completely under-challenged right now. I don't think we'll regret her, Mama."

Angelites nodded, her expression still far from serene. "I think Glynn is sincere and safe too." The woman wrapped an arm tightly around her daughter's shoulders and led her back inside the house. "But don't let yourself be trapped by cheerful people who ask you 'small' favors, Mags. Such people make you feel great at first, but they're leeches. It's better to struggle to patch up your friendships but have something solid. Glynn wants to be a partner, not a friend." The woman exhaled, as if recovering from a blow. "And teach her that problems can't all be handled like infections to pierce and drain. She can't… she's _exhausting_. How long was she here, ten minutes?" Angelites gave a bewildered chuckle. "Her mother is the smoothest person I know. Who is this child?"

Mags was suddenly torn between the desire to hug her mother, to repeat what Glynn had said, to tell her to be proud and that she had no reason to be guilty, and a fierce urge to defend her former classmate.

_You raised a hero._

Glynn had come to Mags when everyone else avoided her. She'd come to commit herself to the project Mags had risked her life for and was just asking in return what Mags had been already prepared to give. Complaining about Glynn was making Mags feel disgustingly ungrateful.

Mags turned to her shaken mother and put her arms around her. For the first time, the young woman was keenly aware that she was almost as tall as her mother. The thought sent a shiver up her body. Was this the strongest she would ever be? Somehow Mags had always held to the belief that one day she'd become _adult _and be suddenly more equipped to handle reality. She now realized there would be no metamorphosis. She had to build herself brick by brick. She took a deep breath, inhaling her mother's sweet perfume, and let the familiar scent soothe her.

"She was right, Mama," Mags whispered, "It took as much bravery on your part to let me go as it took me to not give up. I decided this was worth taking the chance you'd mourn me, that Esperanza would mourn me, but I still did it. I won, and it'll pay off a hundredfold."

The strained smile she received as her mother caressed her face filled her with warmth and hope. Maybe being strong would not be so impossible.

"I'll prepare our very own brand of propaganda," Angelites vowed, "You'll have so many people wanting to be here that this will become a full-blown city."

* * *

Mags stood on the pier of the secondary harbor, a mile away from the edge of town, where sound bounced off the cliffs and made it possible for her to address the twenty-six hundred assembled people without a microphone.

Every fragment of speech she had prepared had exited her mind as she stepped on the rocks next to the mayor. Her throat was so constricted she feared only a squawk would exit her mouth. A hand squeezed her arm. Clad in a tight fitting dress covering her from neck to ankle, her mother made a convincing bodyguard. The shapely woman had the air of someone not even a storm would unbalance. Esperanza was close behind, clutching her hands together nervously and looking extremely curious by what Mags would say.

_You can do this, Big Sis, _the twelve year old mouthed with a smile of encouragement.

Mags opened her mouth when she realized the only sound she could hear was the crash of the waves and the beating of her own heart.

"I waited so long to speak out because I didn't want to give the wrong message," she began, speaking slowly not to stutter, "and then I realized I was trying too hard and that something too carefully worded would be fake." Mags swallowed, feeling intimidated by all those staring eyes and grim faces judging her. She had caught a glimpse of Marlin and Dylana minutes before but now had lost them in the crowd. "The real question isn't why I volunteered," she said more forcefully. "After all, if it's for rebellious reasons, I'd lie for my own safety. If I tell you to work with the Capitol for the greater good of all, I will only convince those who are already convinced," or at least she hoped. "The real question is what does my presence here mean? How does it change things?" Mags swept the audience with her eyes, now sure of what she would say next and confident that words that resonated so deeply inside her would not be scoffed away by her district.

"I want everyone in Four to wake up in their own homes in the morning and have a job they can feel proud about. I want to invest in District Four. We are the sea district, and yet we have grown afraid of sharp submerged reefs and deep seas. We can't repair our ships well and we haven't built any in ages." Mags raised her voice as some people began to mutter angrily, knowing they grumbled that it wasn't their faults. "And now we can change that and everyone will gain," she ground out forcefully, "Poverty breeds discontent, which the President has a great distaste for. The Capitol wants us happy," _and docile and ignorant_, "it's no trick," she promised, aware she struggled to believe that herself, "and almost everything will be overseen by citizen of District Four." Mags breathed in deeply, feeling her previous stress slowly ebb away. "A month ago, I had no job, few prospects, and like an acquaintance said, maybe I did trust my guardian angel a little too much, and maybe I am insane, but I will do my best."

And her best had better be enough.

Mags was suddenly exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go home. "I want to raise my children in a District I am proud of," she said, turning her eyes on the calm sea. If only she had the same ability to endure.

Somebody in the crowd clapped. Mags couldn't see who, if it was Marlin, Dylana, maybe Glynn, or someone she barely knew by sight, but when the clapping started, it rippled across the crowd, echoing in various places, brief, discontinuous and sometimes shy, but sincere.

Mayor Bream stepped forward with a tight-lipped approving smile. "That was very clear, Mags. I think we'll work tremendously well together. Thank you, you can go home."

Mags grinned back ruefully.

"Excuse me! I'm sorry. Please let me through. _Excuse me!_"

Mags turned towards the agitated speaker, dreading any questions. She hoped he would be the only one. She could already see her mother's eyes flare up in warning.

"The recaps, they're missing bits," the flushed man said as he pushed through the crowd. "Lots of bits. D… Delphin, did he say…" the man stuttered, as if failing to find the right word, "anything?" He turned pleading blue eyes towards Mags. "You were together for days in the Capitol. We just saw interviews."

Mags' fear dissolved at the nature of the question, replaced by a much deeper sense of sorrow. "Walk me home, Mr. Vega. I'll tell you what I remember," she promised. Wariness constricted her chest. Delphin had lived much farther up the coast, when had his parents arrived? Why had they made the trip? What did they hope from her? She doubted she would ever dull their pain.

Mags still wasn't sure whether she was grateful to Glynn or wanted to strike her. She'd dreamed of Fife and Constantine, with Lila, Sylvan and Keane in the background. There had been no blood or screams, no harsh words or shed , the three of them had just talked, like old friends, making plans for the future, casually touching and laughing. Fife had been on Constantine's knees and Mags had even caught herself thinking she was glad he was over Teal.

Mags had then woken up, and remembered that of them all, only she still had a future. She'd been so depressed that she'd made her sister cry.

"The speech went well," Esperanza said with a tentative smile as the crowd began to disperse. "I thought you would faint. You could have done that days ago."

"No," Mags said, digging her feet into the sand, "I still had to sort it out. As long -" A dry cough wracked Mags' lungs and she paused, forcing herself to calm down and speak slower. "As long as I wasn't sure it had been worth it, I couldn't convince anyone else," she said.

Esperanza lowered her gaze, looking thoughtful. She spoke up again after a short pause, her wide eyes hopeful. "Can I stay while you talk about Delphin?"

"Of course," Mags replied, "just keep any questions for later."

Esperanza nodded seriously before latching onto her sister's arm.

"May I too, or were there embarrassing sexual undertones involved?"

Mags glared at her mother, but a part of her was thrilled that the woman was starting to joke about the softer parts of the Games. It didn't make them any less serious, but it gave her hope that the Games would become one day something of the past.

"No sexual undertones, Mama," she whispered, waiting for Mr. Vega to catch up with them. The sandy-haired woman by his side was a sucker punch to Mags' stomach. Nightmares were etched in her drawn skin and she walked like every step could be her last. Her painful thinness was not one of hunger.

Mags shivered and looked down, unable to keep her eyes on Mrs. Vega. This was what her own mother might have become had she lost. This was the risk Mags had taken. It was terrifying.

She tightly grasped her mother's hand.

* * *

**I don't want to introduce too many new characters, but Glynn and a few others will have a big role to play. Mr. and Mrs. Vega won't be appearing again (unless I change my mind) because I need the story moving on quickly enough to cover all of Mags' life in a decent sized book (so basically centering over a half dozen relevant time-periods/events). Important sub-plot coming ahead as District Four adapts to having a victor. **

**Please review.**


	31. Collapse

**This chapter ended up a massive 8k. So I cut it in half before I even finished it, so the good news is that the next chapter is over half done.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter.**

* * *

_Date: Year 9, August. Ten days after Mags' victory._

Dawn fell on the calm sea like a river of pink and silver paint, breathing life into the foam and waves.

Oblivious to the magnificence before her, Mags gripped the balcony rail hard enough to hurt her hands, as if anger could dissipate the fog in her mind. She was tired without feeling the need to sleep, a physical wariness she could not explain after eight hours of rather fitful rest. Staying indoors without Esperanza or her mother to distract her had become suffocating. Mags wondered if her new found hate of closed spaces was a relic of the Games, a subconscious imprint left by the narrow death-filled sewers that would forever haunt her nights, or if it was just one more expression of her ever-growing hate of idleness.

The young woman left a note on the table, careful not to wake the others, and grabbed her raincoat before heading out. She absently fastened the pins replacing the broken zipper of the too-large coat and resigned herself to buying a new one. It seemed everything she had once owned needed to be replaced, and while logic dictated that holding on to a worn and ripped rain coat was ridiculous, she felt a pang of sadness as she wondered if any of her old possessions would survive the year.

She had never thought to be one attached to material things and now feared that she wasn't clinging on to the objects, but to the beliefs that had motivated her to volunteer, the hope in a rebellion untainted by the memories of Wickers and Cresyl, the blind trust in the morals of rebel groups before it had been shattered by Atli and his pitiable, murderous _children_. Everything white had been tainted with gray and in front of every dream there was a steep mountain to climb.

Mags balled her fists. She viscerally hated her defeated spiraling thoughts. Of course it was hard. She had chosen this. She had been through worse at a more tender age. She wouldn't hide from her responsibilities behind flimsy pretexts of _trauma_.

_Keane_ had been traumatized.

Mags had known what had awaited her and she knew what she had to do now: she had to talk to the shipwrights, the whalers and the ship captains, to learn as much as she could about their trades and wishes before deciding what was most urgent the academy teach. She needed to see the mayor again to draft her plans about house-building to avoid having to wait another five years before the makeshift tents housing the hundreds of homeless in town - and the thousands in all of Four - would disappear. She needed to see what could be recycled among the tons of material burned each week in the inland dump. Efficient recycling alone could create a hundred jobs, it was just a matter of doing it.

Unpleasant scraping reached her ears and Mags belatedly realized she was dragging her feet, filling her shoes with dust and sand in her reluctance to leave Victor's Village. She sat down on the grass, trying to make sense of her jumbled emotions.

_Why was she unenthusiastic at the prospect of doing any of those tasks?_ She brought her hand to her mouth to silence her dry cough. This was why she had won, what she had fought, lied and killed for. Where had her drive gone?

The answer was so infantile that Mags would have slapped herself like a harried mother would a whiny child had it been any use.

The truth was that she didn't know these people; the shipwrights and the sailors, the net-makers and the market vendors. She knew most by face, some by name, but she was ignorant of even what the town gossip said on them. A town of five thousand and she barely knew her former classmates… How pathetic.

She'd sold hooks before her victory, making them from all kinds of recycled materials. They'd been sturdy and easy to use and she'd earned a decent amount for them, but she'd only dealt with Mr. Anchor and never gotten close to the other fishermen.

The core of the problem was that Mags didn't like people so much. She didn't mind them, but she disliked spending time with a stranger when there was other work to do or she could instead be with her family and close friends. She was more productive alone, and most interactions were superficial anyway. Two friends, a handful of acquaintances and good work-relations, and her family, such was Mags' wholly satisfying social life summed up. She'd made her own harpoons and nets to catch fish, in the delta with Dylana and, when he could make the time, Marlin, so she'd never really known the joy of long queues at the market, which were a greater social event than the casual observer would suspect.

The prospect of going to see the shipwrights, men and women who would have treated her like a child before the Games and would now doubtless treat her like a _suspicious_ child with too much money and not enough maturity, was hardly appealing. After all, who would trust a volunteer? She knew many saw her as a Capitol spy and would rip her off to tend to their immediate needs at the first occasion. Mags couldn't hope to go there and have them interrupt their work to listen to her, let alone take her seriously. Why would they? She had yet to prove she wasn't just talk. Mags could compensate them for their time, but that was the best way to encourage gold-diggers and hypocrisy. She needed an inside contact, someone reliable and respected. Except those didn't grow on trees and Mags couldn't expect them to come to her like Glynn had.

_Oh, go drown!_

Mags abruptly stood up, willing her physical discomfort and gloomy thoughts away, and started walking towards the market. She would not give up because of a few hurdles. Marlin worked there in the early mornings and he knew everyone. It was a good place as any to reacquaint herself with her old classmates and anyone she could approach without it seeming awkward.

No wares were being sold when she arrived, it was still too early. She took a note from her purse and handed it wordlessly to the bull-like woman who supervised the daily assembly and dismantling of the market. Mags knew her only by her nickname, Cuda. The woman had muscles big enough to wrestle a shark into submission and a voice that cut through thunderstorms.

"Please free Marlin for the morning, Ma'am."

Cuda eyed the money and brought two fingers to her mouth. An ear-splitting whistle cut the air causing the dozen of workers to turn her way.

"Marlin, you're off today. Your lady friend bought you out," she called.

Mags winced at the phrasing. Marlin wasn't a commodity to bid for.

A look of pleasant surprise on his face, the sandy-haired boy threw his tool-bag over his shoulder and walked up to Mags.

"Who's going to be doing his job now?" One of the men harrumphed, shooting Mags a dirty look.

Mags held his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. Marlin was strong and experienced, but there was no labor shortage in town. Work always got done.

Indeed, rather than answer, Cuda let out another whistle powerful enough to cut through a ship's sail.

"Who wants to earn four meals for three hours' work?" she bellowed as a group of children between the ages of nine and fourteen rushed from the edge of the beach.

Cuda promptly picked two of the broader youngsters and a wiry older boy who probably had made a name for himself for being clever or agile. The other six were shooed back to where they had been waiting.

Mags frowned, knowing those boys would not make it to school by nine o'clock. School was compulsory, but some, especially the tougher boys who could hope to get small jobs young from the sailors who needed crates moved around or fish brought to the market and factories, figured earning a bit of money was a priority. And with the shortage of qualified jobs, they weren't so wrong, Mags thought darkly.

« You look disgusted, Mags, » Marlin said, stopping in front of her. His nose was scrunched up in worry, and Mags self-consciously smoothened her face.

"I paid Cuda to give you the day off. Everything seems to have a price and… I don't like it." She said lamely. Her green eyes narrowed in dismay. "I can't believe I bought your time."

Marlin laughed. "It _is_ unfair!" he said with the easy smile Mags knew so well, "it's _my_ time. It's me you should be paying, not Cuda. So, what does my very new employer want? And wasn't that your mother I saw going to work yesterday? Why is she still working?"

Mags went to sit down on a grassy slope not far from the path. The feeling of queasiness she had woken up with still hadn't left her and her legs were dragging her down.

"Mama has agreed to stay another two weeks at the farm to teach her replacements to do their job properly."

And Mags didn't regret having told her mother to go through with it. She never felt better as when she was with her mother and her sister, but they both had lives to live. More importantly, it was when she was alone that Mags was assaulted by doubts and the lingering shadows born from the Games. She needed to acknowledge her wounds before she could treat them, and only in solitude was she forced to face herself.

"Replacements?" Marlin said with a small smile as he sat down near her.

Mags grinned back, torn from her musings. Trust Marlin to point out the details to make her feel proud. "There's no single untrained person who can do the job as well as she did, so yes, replacements, plural." She frowned as she tried to recall the names, "Oliver Blackpool and his elder sister."

Marlin nodded before staring straight at her, worry entering his coffee-colored eyes. "You look tired, why wake up at dawn to see me? Weren't we to spend the afternoon with Dee?"

Yes, _finally_. Mags was looking forward to that, a lot. She smiled, a tight smile rigid with concentration. She didn't mind asking Marlin a service, but she hadn't planned to do it. She never seemed to plan things through well enough anymore.

"We are, but money can't buy everything and I can't do this without people and I don't know people. I don't know anyone," Mags said, annoyance creeping into her tone. She could feel panic rising inside her, it was there, creeping just below the surface, the voice telling her it would all had been for nothing if she failed. _Worthless_, it breathed, like jaws waiting to snap shut around her neck. "I need to know people, I need them to trust me, and right now…" Judgmental scowls, wary eyes, and so little hope. She'd played the Capitol's Game, why would they trust her at all? "I need to know everyone at least by name before the end of winter. I don't want to be a mystery in this town, I need to be liked, and I don't know how." She said, crossing her arms in sheer frustration. She knew how to make a good impression on people she met, but how did one become popular?

"Alright, let's think about this." Marlin said, his brow furrowing as he lost himself in thoughts. He then turned back to her, with a brusqueness that poorly masked his emotions. "Have you slept?"

"I have," Mags assured him, "and not so badly." She nevertheless felt like she was thirteen years old again, tired all the time for no reason. Games or no Games, she had to look a fright for Marlin to feel the need to mother her.

"That's good." Marlin said with a fond smile. He pushed himself to his feet and helped Mags up. "Let's do all the streets and I'll tell you about everyone I know and where they live," the stout boy said, pointing at the nearest cluster of houses. "Unless you really want us to talk first?" he said, his whole body tensing just at the thought. He blushed as he became aware of how apparent his discomfort was.

Mags slipped her arm into his. "Don't worry about it. I'll answer your questions when you're ready to ask. I've got Mama to be the adult. You're my friend, Marlin, not my doctor, and I'm really grateful you're still sticking around." Mags chuckled wryly. "And you're saving my life right now. If I'd asked the mayor for a list, people would think I want to become a peacekeeper or something."

"You paid for me," Marlin said, a teasing glint in his brown eyes, "I'd better make myself worthwhile."

Mags drove her elbow in his ribs, an amused scowl on her face. "Don't talk to me about money. I'm slowly growing allergic to it."

Marlin chuckled. "Poor you, with so much money to manage," he said good-naturedly. "We're a helpful district you know. You won't find one person who wouldn't be thrilled to help you with your money. They'd even do all the spending and, trust me, you'd never see a single one of those bothersome coins and notes again. And I can guarantee people would smile at you in the streets," Marlin finished with a broad grin.

The easy humor and gentle rebuke caused Mags to laugh with more abandon than she had in weeks. Of course, how dare she complain about being rich? Her laughter rippled through the early morning air, finding echoes amidst the waking seagulls and cormorants.

Laughter fed new laughter as a feeling of elation coursed through Mags' veins. The young victor soon regained her senses and smiled at the still grinning Marlin.

The last of her mirth vanished like a popped bubble. Numbness suddenly coursed through her whole body. Mags' ears were ringing. She couldn't get enough air in her lungs. The world blurred, her grip on Marlin's arm slipped.

* * *

Nothingness gave way to an indistinct voice and blurred image until Mags realized she was in the main room of Marlin's house. The stuffed dark red sofa was as rough as it was indestructible and had been the battleground of more than one pillow-fight.

Those memories belonged to another life.

"What happened to me?" Mags said, breaking into a coughing fit. Her lungs thumped as if they would detach with every breath and her head spun dangerously.

"You fainted and scared the life out of me!" The sandy-haired boy heatedly replied before lowering his voice. It remained thick with concern. "Have you been feeling alright in the last days?" Marlin broke eye contact, blushing slightly. "I mean physically?"

Mags suddenly found sweet rather than awkward that Marlin wouldn't ask her how she'd been feeling emotionally. He'd never dared to ask questions if he knew the answers could be more than he could handle. He hated letting people down or hurting their feelings and only sought confrontations when he saw no other way. At least he cared and didn't doubt that it had been hard on her, Mags couldn't ask for more.

"I've been sleeping a lot and I've been coughing a bit, but it could be the wind, and sheer exhaustion…"

"It's low blood pressure," Marlin said with chilling certainty, reminding Mags that his uncle had died prematurely, "and Mags, you cut yourself when you fell and your blood…" Marlin paused, looking at a loss and worried. "Your blood is very thick."

"Thick blood? How?" Mags said weakly, twisting her body around to see where she had cut herself. She could feel stinging on her shoulder, but couldn't see.

Mags paused and breathed in. Thick blood and fainting, low blood pressure... Why was this happening to her? She had slept. She'd been sleeping so much she was beginning to fear it was a symptom in itself. She had kept hydrated, she hadn't eaten anything toxic, gone anywhere toxic…

Mags' thoughts came to a halt. Crystallizing into an ice-tipped arrow which pointed at the evident answer.

Mags hadn't been thinking far back enough.

_Toxic. _Fumes so thick they hid the moon and blurred the sun. Pits bubbling puffs of little death and bleeding rivulets of dangerous substances which dug their way into the earth, feeding from the last of the ruins, poisoning everything in their path.

Every last drop of life had been sucked out of the surface of Southern District Three and even the underground was but a place of passage, an accursed haven for those hunted by the Capitol.

What had she unwittingly brought back from her unprotected forays in the ruins? What had lurking in her lungs and bloodstream waiting for the right time to strike?

"It's the gases from the ruins," Mags rasped, her heartbeat increasing feverishly, "it has to be. They were toxic…" Her eyes were wide in terror as the numbness in her limbs refused to fade. What was happening to her?

Marlin snorted, bringing his fist down angrily on the sofa. "No surprise here. Weren't they supposed to heal you, like every victor after their Games?" He exclaimed, his square jaw tight in fury.

They were. Could they have missed it? Had they willingly left her –

A familiar high-pitched voice startled her back to the present. "You in there, Marlin?"

"Hey, Dee," Mags said, absurdly happy to see her friend. Dylana didn't look surprised to see her, so it meant Marlin had sent someone to get her. And she'd come.

Maybe that's what it took to be high up on the list of Dylana's priorities, Mags suddenly thought with more bite than was fair, getting ill. She shut up the resentful voice in her mind and let a smile bloom on her lips, warmed to have both her friends close despite how miserable she felt.

Dylana grasped Mags' hands in her, wry chuckles escaping her lips. "Circe, Mags! You survive the Games and the heat nearly does you in?"

Mags' smile turned sour. "I think this is closely linked to the Games…" her face brightened. "Thanks for coming, I've been missing you. How's your grandfather?"

Dylana's tired face broke into a delighted grin. "Pretty good. He'll be fine for a least a couple of years with steady medications. Just pills and stuff, nothing major. He was telling jokes again and pulling weeds just an hour ago to make it up to Father for having been so horrible when he was sick."

"What kind of pills?" Marlin said, frowning.

"Those Mags had sent over."

"You're paying the medicine?" Marlin said, turning to Mags with a purely curious expression on his face. He'd heard the investment but no personal favors speech given like everyone else.

Mags blinked. Apparently. But it was a drop in a bucket as far as Mags was concerned. She couldn't even say Dylana had been presumptuous. Her yearly allowance was almost ten percent of Four's citizen total net income, it was disgraceful: she earned as much as three thousand working adults.

"I'm sorry for asking this of you, but I can't let Grandpa die and it's not like you want him on your conscience either. It's no great sacrifice on your part as long as you say no to people who aren't friends or family. It's not like we'll ruin you," Dylana said with an apologetic expression, pulling back from Mags slightly.

Mags had two friends. It was fair they all helped the other two how they could, especially when it didn't harm district Four. What bothered Mags is that Dylana thought to justify herself, as if she wasn't sure if Mags could be relied upon to help her anymore.

"Dee, even had I never volunteered I would have helped you help your grandfather, just like you'd have helped me with Mama had she fallen ill." Mags huffed, realizing she lacked the energy to be tactful anymore. "I get you're not sure about my loyalties anymore, even if it hurts, but that you'd doubt the fact I'd help you get medicine?"

She was thrown back on the sofa by a wracking cough. Her lungs felt like they'd detach and spill from her mouth. For a moment Mags couldn't breathe.

Marlin wrapped an arm around her, fear apparent on his face.

"Shouldn't we get a healer? What's wrong with her?" Dylana asked, her lips pursed in a tight line.

"I should go to the Capitol," she said, wheezing.

Dylana pulled a disgusted face. "What? Why would you want to go there?" Worry erased the suspicion on her face as she knelt next to the golden-brown haired victor. "It's not healthy for you there, Mags. They want you to be theirs, they need to control everything."

Mags agreed whole-heartedly, but the stone pressing her chest down and the crawling in her limbs caused a primal fear much stronger than the Capitol to rise in her. _What if she was dying?_

"I spend over twenty-four hours in a highly toxic zone with no protection and I had no mask when…" Mags stopped assaulted by a wave of memories.

_Gyan, lifeless with water dribbling down his chin. _

_Screams and gunshots, the sizzle of Tasers and that horrible canon. Lila, vengeful then limp, her ebony skin filthy with dust and blood. The storm of fire, circling rebels and peacekeepers alike like a rabid demon, its hiss clawing at their ears yet too low to cover the moan of the wounded. _

_Constantine, determination making him more handsome than ever, running away with Fife, their hovercraft a beacon in the middle of the night sky until the airborne peacekeepers exploded in a terrible firework._

_And Valerian. Those steely blue eyes and slicing voice. __"I'm going to have to explain to my colonel that her son was very explicit about wanting you to win. Don't ever think to disappoint."_

_Don't ever think to disappoint._

"_Mags! _Mags, we're here, you're okay." Marlin was saying, holding her face with his calloused hands. His voice trembled. "Are you?" He cleared his throat. "Okay, you're not, but you're here, with us, Mags!"

"I'm here." She breathed, tasting the salt of her own tears. "Damn…," she cursed weakly, blinking the nightmares out of her eyes. "Sorry, guys."

This was not how she'd planned her first official reunion to go.

"Err… apology accepted?" Marlin replied with a wan smile.

Dylana was staring at her with tears in her eyes.

"I can't buy a cure if I don't know what it is," Mags said. Fear enveloped her body like a suffocating icy blanket. She couldn't die, not yet, there was too much to do.

"The toxic ruins… Good thing there's Capitol doctors then." Dylana said softly. There was no sarcasm in her tone, just regret as if the idea of owing their overlords anything was physically painful.

"I'm sorry." They'd finally managed to plan an evening they could spend together, the three of them, like old times. She'd finally have talked to Dylana in a relaxed setting. She shut her eyes in disappointment.

"Can't you get a medic to come over?" Dylana said. "You'll have people coming over to check on your school, so why not a doctor? You don't have to go back there." A frantic note entered Dylana's voice, her hate at the thought of Mags going alone to the Capitol so palpable that Mags' dread at the thought of leaving increased tenfold. But she had to, the Capitol was the only place she could get a reliable diagnostic.

"I need the Capitol to work with me, Dee," Mags said, her throat tight. "They like to be reminded they're above us. I can't summon Capitolites on a whim."

"Of course you can't," Dylana said bitterly. "Be well, Mags," she said. She gave Mags one last squeeze before standing up and abruptly leaving.

Mags swallowed. Dylana's expression had been one of grief.

"Has she been talking to you about me? I'm scared, Marlin," Mags said, digging her fingers in Marlin's arm so hard it had to be painful. "She doesn't trust me at anymore, does she?"

Marlin's face flashed with a myriad of emotions. His lips twitched, but no words exited his mouth.

"Marlin, I was ambushed by Glynn two days ago, you can't hurt me. I need the truth."

A smile quirked Marlin's lips as she mentioned Glynn.

Mags recalled the two had been friends when they were little. Marlin had been mortified whenever Glynn upset someone with her blunt truths but they'd remained close until Marlin had become too self-conscious about it, a little before Mags and him had become friends. Maybe now that they were older and Marlin was more confident, the two would be friends again.

"You've proven to have higher priorities than her," Marlin began, his expression wary as if he was treading on thin ice. "Dylana is a rebel, more outspoken than you ever were, you know that. She feels in danger around you. If the Capitol asks you about her, she's not sure you won't testify against her anymore. She knows you care, but she doesn't think it'll be enough."

Mags looked down, wondering how it all looked from Dylana's side of things. "I don't shut up about wanting to dialogue with the Capitol to get the academy going."

"Yeah, she'd rather have less things done but have no Capitol involvement at all." Marlin's lips twisted in distaste. "It's harsh to say, because it means people live in the streets and the jobs suck, but better be poor but owe nothing to no one and all that. You now have very different priorities."

"We're already completely dependent on the Capitol for everything except fish. It's an illusion."

"Dee doesn't see it like that."

No. Dylana liked to pretend the Capitol's hold on Panem was looser than it was. That if a bomb wiped out the Capitol today, everything would be perfect. Mags couldn't afford to believe in such black and white lies. She had power now, she had to keep real and do things right.

"You're staying my friend?" She said, feeling like a seven year old.

"Are you asking me to choose?" Marlin asked, his eyes widening in distress.

"No," Mags murmured, letting her head fall against his shoulder. "I hope you never have to."

A sudden noise made the two of them start. Mags briefly feared someone had cracked the front door.

Mags gave her mother a forced smile when the woman all but ran in, flushed and disheveled. "A boy this tall," Angelites said, her hand stopping at her waist, "caught me halfway to the farm and told me you had dropped dead."

Mags paled. Her mother had been told she'd dropped dead? _Literally_? She reached out with her hand, wishing to offer some form of comfort. Her mother's warm grip was bruising and Mags suddenly wanted Marlin to give her the name of the thoughtless messenger and slam his head against a wall.

"The fainted part must have gotten lost," Marlin said, looking appalled, "I can't express how sorry I am about the scare, Angelites. But, she's alive," he added with a weak smile, gesturing nervously at the pale girl by his side.

The raven haired woman flashed Marlin a relieved smile. "Yes, you're alive, Mags" She repeated slowly, her expression still a little crazed. She pointed a threatening finger at her daughter. "You're going back to the Capitol to scream at them for not having fixed you up after the Games."

"That was the plan," Mags said, feeling more drained with every minute.

Angelites stopped, evidently having been prepared to argue. "Good," she finally said, unable to mask her surprise at seeing Mags so reasonable. "Good. Let's call a train," she repeated, planting a tender kiss on her daughter's forehead before rushing out to find a phone. The mayor didn't live very far. She stopped right before the door.

"You know what? We're rich, let's call a hovercraft," she said with a small smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Mags smiled back, hoping her mother didn't give herself a heart attack. "Awesome, Mama, I'll be waiting nicely right here."

* * *

Mags twiddled her thumbs in the hospital bed, pondering the words of the pudgy doctor.

After six hours, all kind of fluid samples and three biopsy results, the man's best guess was that the heavy metal particles had combined with something else and attacked her lungs and arterial walls. Apparently, it was impossible to determine the exact mix of fumes she had inhaled so the therapy was going to be trial and error, which meant she would be globally fine, but she'd just be semi-dependent on meds for the next few years at best and few decades at worst. No, at worst the meds would kill her, but the odds were ridiculous and simply stated for _lawsuit purposes_.

Just brilliant. So now the Capitol had something else to use against her if she didn't cooperate.

Doctor Alexanders came back in with a thin file, his orange eyes hooded in anger, but the anger seemed directed at himself, not Mags. "You'll be taking this home, it contains everything you should know about your body and medication. I'm sorry we didn't catch this earlier. We thought we'd treated all the toxins. Evidently not," he said with a forced thin smile.

Mags stared. A Capitolite apologizing? Suddenly she saw the man in a less negative light and stopped suspecting she had not been completely cured on purpose the first time around. He'd been very professional. "I know you're doing your best. It's better than anything I have at home."

The doctor rolled his eyes at that before growing solemn again. "Miss Abalone, you might not live much beyond seventy or eighty. Some damage is unfortunately irreversible and your heart has been slightly weakened. But," the man said, straightening with an unmistakable aura of pride, "barring further serious injury or illness, I can guarantee you'll be strong until then."

Mags laughed. Seventy was _old_. Her grandparents had died in their sixties and they'd lived a full life. Dylana's grandfather was seventy-six and had to be the oldest person Mags new. At least the oldest person who could think, wash and eat by himself.

Her smile fell at the memory of Dylana's abrupt departure. She clung to the hope they could still fix things.

Alexanders was looking at her as if she was insane.

"A healthy seventy has always been my ambition," Mags explained, not missing the flash of disdain that answer caused. "Thank you for answering all my questions, Doctor," she said curtly.

"It's the job. You've been a relaxing patient," the man admitted with a small smile. "Your hovercraft will leave in five hours, I suggest you rest and read some magazines. Someone will come and get you if you're summoned."

Mags nodded, disheartened by the news. Five hours. She'd be home by midnight if she was lucky. She didn't doubt she would be summoned, unless this was to teach her patience.

Capitol fashion magazines were stacked on a small table on the other side of the room. Mags decided to have a laugh.

As she passed the door, she saw a pair of avoxes rushing past and frowned. If avoxes assisted the doctors, why hadn't a single one entered her room? Another avox, a middle-aged man, stood in front of a closed ward door, looking much less in a hurry. She walked over, unable to stop wondering what he had done to have his life taken away by the Capitol.

Panic entered his face when he realized he was the object of her attention.

"I just wanted to know if it was normal that I didn't see a single avox until now," Mags hurriedly said, hating to see him so tense, "I've been here since before midday and the doctor did everything by himself, except for a single nurse."

The man almost sagged in relief at the innocuous nature of her question. He shook his head and shrugged to signal he didn't know why.

How thoughtful of Achlys to spare her the sight of avoxes, Mags grimly thought. She hated everything the mutes in the red uniforms represented. Slavery, death of personality, the Capitol's total impunity; but for avoxes to have been ordered out of her room yet not out of the corridors was a very clear message. _We know where you are. _Maybe there were no cameras in her home, but in the Capitol, her every step was monitored.

Mags thanked the man, tearing her eyes away from him before her anger became too apparent, and walked back into her room. She paused by the door.

A robust boy with black hair and an open round face was standing next to her window.

"What are you doing here?" Mags said, checking the corridor for parents but seeing none.

The boy huffed dramatically. "I'm bored, all the nurses are busy because some lady is giving birth to twins and she's so scared she paid for the whole hospital to take care of her, or so the nurse said." He pointed at the hospital entrance two stories below. "Dad will come and get me at nine because my tests won't be ready before, so I'm supposed to watch TV or something but I'd rather go out." He huffed again. "Nine is _three_ hours away and I'm bored!" He repeated, letting himself fall on the floor, his arms firmly crossed across his chest and his face scrunched up in frustration.

Mags stared quizzically at the boy, wondering what the appropriate response would be. She could tell him to leave her alone but she had to admit that reading fashion magazines was only appealing to an extent. Besides, getting on good terms with a Capitolite, even a miniature one, would doubtless make her life much easier.

"How old are you?" She inquired, her interest piqued. "What's your name?"

"Plutarch and I'm eight and two months." He jumped to his feet and puffed up importantly. "Have you ever seen the zoo?"

* * *

**It's a very stupid cliffhanger, but this was long enough as it was. It's not my favorite chapter, but it's important. Please review^^.**


	32. Sightseeing

_Date: Year 9, August. Ten days after Mags' victory. Part 2_

* * *

_Previously:_

_"How old are you?" She inquired, her interest piqued. "What's your name?"_

_"Plutarch and I'm eight and two months." He jumped to his feet and puffed up importantly. "Have you ever seen the zoo?"_

* * *

Mags cocked her head to the side. "What's in a 'zoo'?"

Was it a fancy children's playground?

"Loads of animals that don't exist anywhere else," Plutarch explained, looking both proud and delighted to be able to teach the older girl something. "If you take me to the zoo, we'll both have fun. I've already seen it, but you haven't, and since I'd owe you for taking me about anywhere, the zoo is the neatest place and it's close."

Mags smiled. A part of her was just as eager to leave the sterile hospital environment and the zoo sounded intriguing. Animals that didn't exist anymore? Like the animals mutts were based off? She willed herself to dampen her enthusiasm. She couldn't forget where she was.

"I'm not saying no," she said slowly, endeared to see his face light up, "but why didn't your parents teach you not to trust strangers like that? And why isn't even a single nurse supervising you?"

Plutarch huffed. "They've got better things to do. Dad didn't pay them to walk me places. He says he's keeping the money to buy me a present when I get out if I behave." Plutarch tilted his chin up. "I'm behaving. You're an adult, so you can take me outside. I'm too hot in here and it's boring." He then glared at her as if she was slow. "Besides, you're no stranger. You're the victor, Mags. I saw everything. You're nice."

Mags stared. _I saw the recaps_ and _you're nice_ said in that childish accented voice clashed like fire and water. Mags knew little children didn't process violence and death in the same way, her sanity had rested on that during the rebellion, but a part of her still reeled.

"So?" Plutarch asked, hope written all over his round features.

Mags smiled helplessly. She wondered why her brain was so screwed up that she suddenly felt more affection for a brainwashed Capitol boy that thought she was nice rather than for the hardworking decent citizen of her town who were understandably suspicious of her.

"You're the one who knows where to go, Plutarch," she said gesturing at the door.

The stout boy rushed out with a triumphant grin.

Mags wryly wondered which nurse was about to lose her job.

Plutarch had not exaggerated about the whole hospital being occupied elsewhere. The few nurses, avoxes and technicians they encountered were hurrying through the corridors. Security let them out without blinking an eye and yet Mags knew she had been recognized. The realization that no one thought her a threat slowly sunk in and while a part of her was miffed, she had to hide her smile of triumph. These people felt untouchable, they believed Achlys' propaganda.

"You know, the zoo sounds great, but if you want to go somewhere else, I can take you," Mags said kindly, taking in the tall glittering spires all around her.

The hospital seemed to be in a residential part of the fortress city. There were few people in the streets and it was nothing like the crowded plazas she had glimpsed the last time she had been here. Everything seemed more solid, less flashy, more elegant. Mags suddenly could imagine people living here and glimpsed what day to day life for the working citizen had to be, as opposed to the permanent decadent partying of the elite.

"Yeah right. Don't think I'm a fool because I'm little," Plutarch said with unexpected hostility. "You district people don't do anything unless you have to, everyone knows that. That's why there have to be so many peacekeepers."

Mags stared again, a part of her good mood evaporating. She was painfully reminded this was a young _Capitolite_. She decided not to comment.

"So this zoo is really awesome?" She said, keeping her tone cheerful.

"You're nobody if you haven't seen the zoo!" Plutarch exclaimed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You're lucky you're a victor so I can bring you."

What was she, some rare-breed prize dog? Mags schooled her expression. Plutarch was genuinely enthusiastic about this and just repeating what he had heard.

Strange noises, a mix of screams and squawks, soon reached Mags ears.

"Is this the zoo?" It was closer than she had thought.

Plutarch nodded. "Monkeys, they scream all day long. And the parrots are so loud too, but the best is when the lion roars even if you're not allowed to make him because then he gets angry and attacks the people who keep his cage clean."

A childish part of Mags now itched to make the lion roar.

The zoo, which was for now a loud walled enclave with trees inside, was more crowded. People stared as she passed but still didn't bother her. Mags could hear them whispering, asking who the little boy was, until the name Heavensbee was thrown around. It wasn't murmured in awe or fear, which made Mags realized it was Achlys people were wary of. They didn't dare bother her because they thought she was doing something important. Mags stifled a laugh.

When the entrance gave way to a path amidst the trees, Mags' eyes widened in awe. Pleasant flowery scents filled her lungs and her eyes were drawn to a nearby rockpool. Furred animals with short webbed limbs and sleek bodies were in the water… playing. There was no other word. Otters, she remembered with a smile. Those were supposed to exist in Four too, but Mags had never seen one. She delighted in seeing the fool around.

"Those are cool, but they're girl animals. You have to see the tiger," Plutarch said, dragging her further along.

Mags was almost tempted to tug the black-haired boy back but decided keeping him happy was more important than staring at the adorable otters like a child.

"It's a little cage," Plutarch said as they stopped. "I feel a little bad for the tiger, but there isn't anywhere else to put him. They can run really fast, I saw it on TV."

Mags stared at the tiger. She'd only seen a black and white image in the school picture book. It hadn't done any justice to the magnificent prowling beast flexing its sinewy muscles with every graceful step. She wished the TVs in Four would show them what the extinct beasts and the land before Panem looked like, beyond a few pictures and grotesque mutt imitations. For the first time, she found she envied the Capitol. They had access to so much more knowledge and their children seemed so well fed and happy. And _spoiled_, she amended wryly, seeing a flushed mother dragging her wailing child behind her while the tiny girl howled about ice-creams and goats.

"The cage is bigger than my old house was," she muttered absently, trying to make Plutarch feel better about the caged tiger.

The boy started and turned huge blue eyes towards her. "But… we don't get to eat that much fish because fish is expensive. How can you not be very rich? I saw it on TV, there's loads and loads of fish in a net."

Mags frowned at the child's words. Plutarch was either bright for his age or repeating what he'd heard. It seemed the Capitol liked to pretend district people weren't so poor, and that bothered her a lot.

Nevertheless she knew that whatever she told Plutarch would be repeated.

"There's lots of it, so it's cheaper in my town. It doesn't have to get purified or travel like it does to get here, which costs a lot," she answered carefully.

"Yeah Dad said you were different from us and liked to eat all kinds of disgusting stuff that would make proper people sick. So like cheap fish I guess."

Mags shut her eyes briefly, trying to quell the anger bubbling in her chest. She decided she should feel lucky. For the first time she had a chance to find out what a Capitolite grew up hearing.

"Dad also says there has to be peacekeepers everywhere because district people are really violent. That they attack each other and would attack the Capitol if they could because they're greedy. Julia, she's the maid, she told me reaped kids have_ tesserae_, because their parents are so greedy they don't care if their kids get in the Hunger Games."

Mags decided to focus on the one surprising detail before her temper snapped. How could any adult consciously plant such horrible notions in their child's mind? Were all Capitolites devoid of critical thinking? And Plutarch had yet to learn that people didn't like to hear their homeland insulted, regardless of what was true or not.

"You have maids?" She asked through clenched teeth, trying to look pleasant and interested.

Mags had though avoxes did all the work. Maids meant some Capitol citizens worked for others.

"Yeah," Plutarch said with a shrug. "Lots of people do."

But not everyone apparently. "So some people aren't rich?"

"Everyone tries to look rich," Plutarch said, with that self-important puffed up look that Mags was learning to recognize as him reciting something. "Julia has real pretty purple and red feathers growing from her head, right here," he said, bending forwards to show Mags the hairline on his neck, "and girly stuff that makes her hair sparkle and move by itself, but she's not rich. They all work for others in her family. It's 'cause they're a bit stupid and had bad marks at school," he added in a loud whisper. "It's rude to say that poor people are poor because they're stupid even if it's true," he finished solemnly, making sure no one was eavesdropping.

Mags imagined glittering snakes instead of hair and kept her eyes on the tiger to hide her distaste. The 'poor people deserve being poor' rationale didn't surprise her at all, and maybe in the Capitol it was truer than in the districts, even if she doubted that the stupid children of rich, influential parents would ever end up cleaning someone's house. She didn't dare ask Plutarch if he'd heard anything about the rebels that had been captured on TV. If the Capitol had already made them 'confess', surely the districts would have been made to watch. She swallowed, wishing for a way to know if Teal, Sylvan or Chickaree were still alive. Sorrow invaded her. The tiger was suddenly much less fascinating.

"I want tiger claws when I grow up, except bigger and made of steel!" Plutarch announced, awe glittering in his blue eyes.

Mags hoped he'd grow out of it.

As they started walking again, they passed a box saying 'Food for monkeys'. Plutarch slowed, his eyes ostensibly stopping on the sign.

"You want one of those?" Mags offered.

"Yes please," Plutarch said eagerly.

There was enough intelligence sparkling in the eyes of the furry humanoid creatures that Mags was sad to see them in cages. Yet had the Capitol not caged them, would any be still populating Panem? When one of the bonobos reached out to her, well after they had finished feeding them food, Mags gently caught its hand through the bars and thought she saw a glimmer of empathy.

"So?" Plutarch asked testily as they stopped to admire the bickering parrots, flapping their resplendent wings as they shoved the others for food and space.

"So what?" Mags said, tearing her eyes away from the magnificent birds.

"So what do you want for having bought me the monkey food?"

Mags chuckled. "Nothing, Plutarch. I want you to be nice to me if we meet again."

The boy crossed his arms, a wary expression entering his eyes. "What do you mean by nice?"

Mags didn't know whether to laugh or feel sad at his diffident expression. Were there no gifts given in the Capitol? "Just like you were today."

Confusion creased the little boy's face. "You're weird. Weirder than everything Dad says."

"I'm from the Districts," Mags replied gaily. Weird could only be a compliment from a Capitolite.

Plutarch's whole body relaxed as if everything made perfect sense again.

A stern voice made the two turn. "Abalone!"

A broad man in an elegant black and red uniform was taking long steps towards her.

"Uh-oh," Plutarch whispered, looking suddenly guilty as he latched onto her.

"I'm Peacekeeper Frey," the man curtly said. "You are out of bounds, Victor Abalone. What are you doing here?"

"I promised I'd take her to the zoo," Plutarch said, straightening bravely.

Mags bit back a smile, repressing the urge to pat the boy on the head. The peacekeeper looked more annoyed than hostile, as if he'd had to track her down from the hospital, which was entirely possible.

"You are, young man?" Said the man, with the stilted politeness of someone figuring Achlys might have a favorite nephew he hadn't heard of.

"Plutarch Heavensbee, Sir, and we still have to go see the snakes."

Mags was finding it harder and harder not to smile.

The blonde officer turned to Mags but kept silent, his thick brow furrowed. He hadn't reacted to Plutarch's name so Mags guessed the Heavenbees were a well-off family but not one of the more powerful ones.

"Meet me in the entrance in fifteen minutes," he finally said, shaking his head slightly. "Don't cause trouble."

"No, Sir," Plutarch solemnly promised.

Mags laughed as soon as the man was out of hearing range.

Plutarch stuck his tongue out when the young woman tousled his hair.

_****__***scenebreak***_

Achlys didn't bother to mask her disbelief as Mags was finally allowed into her office. Mags decided there was nothing to be nervous about, she'd done nothing wrong. Her body decided differently, and she felt her hands grow clammy from stress.

"The zoo?" The President said, slight contempt twisting her lips into a small smile.

"Plutarch asked me to come." Mags blushed, feeling stupid now. "The child in me was just too tempted."

Achlys rolled her eyes. "You never asked who his father was."

Mags bit her inner lip. Of course they'd talked to the boy. No wonder she had been made to wait an hour outside. She hoped they hadn't talked Plutarch out of seeing her again. It would be nice to know someone non-threatening in the Capitol.

"I didn't see how it mattered. Plutarch talked of him like a decent father, so I wasn't worried for him."

A small smile creased Achlys' painted lips. "Good," she muttered.

Good what? Good that Mags has no political ambitions in the Capitol and had only wanted to have fun? _If only Achlys knew_. But Mags had to admit that she'd indeed accepted to go to the zoo because after her near brush with death, she had needed the distraction.

"I overstepped myself, Madam President, I apologize," Mags said with downcast eyes, not wanting to take any risks.

Achlys chuckled. "The zoo is fine. The Heavenbees are a respectable middle-class family with more influence than means, and their boy appears to be as spirited and aware of what he wants as his father is," the white-haired woman paused and brought a hand to her long ruby earrings, as if she was making a mental note.

Mags hoped she hadn't gotten Plutarch in trouble.

"I'll have someone with you when you come from now on," Achlys informed her after a pause, "to tell you what is appropriate. I understand there was an emergency today but do give me a little more warning on your coming and goings."

A weak chuckle escaped Mags' lips, as she struggled to hide her dread at the idea of being shadowed by one of Achlys' minions. "Of course, Ma'am. I truly hope it won't happen again."

Achlys gave her another small amused smile.

Mags swallowed, hoping her courage wouldn't fail her. "Mrs. President, about meteorology and water purification?"

She instantly regretted her question.

Achlys tensed, anger tightening her features. "Are you aware of the cost of a parabolic antenna powerful enough to cover a 500*500 miles zone?" The woman asked in poisonous tones.

Mags couldn't repress a frown. There were three antennas to rebuild. One in the Capitol and two in Four since the other places were not strategic enough to warrant it. The material cost was what the Capitol would pay the districts for it and either the technology still existed or it didn't. If it did, the Capitol wouldn't ruin itself by paying the citizens of Three, Five and Six to build their machines, and if it didn't, Achlys could simply say so.

"Four is still a rebel's nest, Abalone," Achlys spat in disgust, "they would sabotage it. If you want I'll allow you to make a district wide statement saying exactly this: I'm refusing meteorology because it would be a waste of money. If there are no acts of vandalism aside the very minor in Four for a whole year, I will come back on my decision."

Mags suddenly understood and repressed the urge to slam her head on the table. Vandalism was almost a tradition. All the anger that the teenagers, and a fair few older citizen, felt against the government, especially when reaping period approached, crystallized in a crashing wave of destruction and chaos. Those gestures were screams of rage by people terrified to be silenced forever. Through petty vandalism people wanted to remind the world that they were still alive, that they refused to be treated as disposable pawns. Reason proved such actions were useless, but reason had never been a driving force.

"Pay more attention to the black eyed peacekeepers that walk your District," Achlys began, cold fury still blazing in her golden eyes, "to the ripped pipes and broken windows where the fish is purified, to the smell of rot where waste disposal units have been upturned. I will give you meteorology and I will give you better sanitation, Abalone, but only when Four will have given me order and peace."

Mags nodded. "I understand, Madam President, I'll do my best to convince them."

Not just her town, the whole district. Mags almost sagged at the amplitude of the task. How to convince oppressed people that violence, no matter how satisfying, had to be proscribed? That giving the Capitol some order was not offering it their souls? Some peacekeepers would take advantage of it and, with no outlet, some people would go insane.

"You must, you care more about their lives and happiness than I do," Achlys said with a small predatory smile.

Mags swallowed. She had never been more aware that this was the woman who had invented the Hunger Games.

* * *

It was pitch dark when the hovercraft landed next to the mayor's house, with only the lighthouse and a few lampposts illuminating the paths.

Mags blushed as the carrier left again, making enough noise to wake the whole district. The people who had to wake up before dawn to sail out would hate her.

Movement made her start. "Precisely on time. Let's go," her mother said, wrapping an arm around her, while Esperanza grabbed her other hand.

The woman freed a hand to wave to the mayor but kept dragging her daughter away before anyone could catch up.

Mags grinned as her mother and sister efficiently kidnapped her, she kissed their cheeks, happy to be home. "Don't you have a test tomorrow, Esperanza?"

"Didn't you just almost die, Big Sis?" The dark haired girl shot back before mumbling something about priorities.

Mags affected a shrug, not wanting them to know how terrified she had been. "How dramatic! No, I'll be fine. I've got a list of drugs I need to take."

"There's just medicine in that huge backpack you have?" Angelites said warily, lifting the bag by the handle to estimate its weight. It was heavy.

"Don't worry, Mama. There's loads of different stuff because I breathed in lots of different fumes but it's very well explained in that sheet the doctor gave me. We'll read through it tomorrow." Mags smiled when her sister's hold on her arm tightened forcefully. "We'll wait for you, Esperanza, I promise. Doctor Alexanders apologized because I may die at eighty."

A hearty chuckle escaped Angelites' lips. "That sounds acceptable," she said, relief thick in her tone as she slowly caressed her eldest's amber hair.

* * *

**Author's note**

This chapter was rather lighthearted. The next will be more… stressful. Time will start moving on more quickly in a couple of chapters.

The** "__*****scenebreak*****"** ugly thing was because for some reason the doc manager won't let me insert horizontal lines half the time

**Thanks to everyone who has expressed interest in the story from the beginning. A special thank you to my regular guest reviewers: Well of Wishes, Iacopo, Lollipop, Flibidi, Supernova18 and Gingerfluff. Thank you for your feedback and your loyalty despite the lack of answers you receive from me. I love reading your reviews and you all give valuable insight.**

Lastly, always remember that Mags is smart but uneducated and the Plutarch is a child. So when you read:

"the best is when the lion roars even if you're not allowed to make him because then he gets angry and attacks the people who keep his cage clean."

Of course the lion's claws and fangs have been removed for safety reasons. But Plutarch was told by his parents (who wanted to scare and impress him and to stop him from tapping the lion's cage) that the lion was as fierce as it would have been in the wild (also because Plutarch would have been upset had he learned those awesome lion claws had been cut). And Mags is not going to ponder how animals are treated and kept in zoos at length because it's not her priority, so she believes Plutarch (who might also be exaggerating things to impress her).

Just saying that the narration is colored by the narrator and that people are sometimes wrong and sometimes lie.

**Please review^^.**


	33. Taken

**Thanks for the feedback on the last chapter. Don't worry, this story will be finished, and loose ends will be tied.**

* * *

_Date: Year 9, September. Twelve days after Mags' victory._

Standing once more in front of the crowd assembled in the town square, the green-eyed victor swallowed back her nervousness. Cameras pointed straight at her face and peacekeepers kept the crowd away from the stage. As August died, the President had made her refusal to give water-filtering technology and Doppler radars official, and today all of District Four would hear Mags give them the reason why.

A mouthpiece for the Capitol. This was the role Evadne Achlys wanted her to fill.

Mags let the tangy sea air fill her lungs, hoping her people would see beyond the image and hear her words. She paid only token attention to the mayor's introductory speech. Anger shone on many a tanned face. Anger at having to give up half their morning to come and listen to a teenager who in their eyes would forever be a tool. A now familiar weariness seeped into Mags' bones, and she wondered how long it would take to earn their respect.

Except for a few muttering children, the crowd was deathly silent. It always was when the cameras were there. No one wanted the Capitol's attention on their family. Mags let the sight give her strength. If a whole town could muster the discipline to remain silent under Capitol scrutiny, surely they would pay heed.

"You all know someone who died from a storm we couldn't predict," Mags began. "We had functional, efficient meteorology stations ten years ago. Those represented two hundred jobs and countless lives and ships saved. Today, the President refuses to waste money on advanced equipment which will be destroyed in acts of vandalism hidden under the pretense of rebellion." Mags paused, letting her words sink in. Fury, resignation and bitterness rippled over the crowd like waves crashing on a reef. Those battered people didn't need to talk, Mags realized, their story was etched on their faces and their plight obvious in their tired eyes.

"The mirrors for the lighthouse in this town were broken twice, and not by peacekeepers, before we finally got the new ones installed." Mags didn't have to say how long they'd gone without a lighthouse and how everyone had almost given up until Caspian Medes had changed things through sheer toil and force of personality. "All over District Four, every month, cargoes of fish sent over to the Capitol are fouled, train windows shattered by thrown stones. Does ruined fish make the Capitol starve? If someone pays, it's the fishermen, and the workers at the processing industries. It's not the Capitol," Mags said, anger entering her voice. She struggled not to sound too accusing or aggressive. She knew how helpless people felt when the reapings approached. She'd seen the haggard looks of the sailors in the winter, giving away the fish their families so desperately needed to survive to keep to the quotas. But desperate gestures of violence only cause Four to sink deeper in misery.

"When you or someone you know attacks a peacekeeper or damages a building, ask yourself, is it worth it? Is it worth the ships that never sailed home? Will ripping a pipe or breaking a window make your life easier? I, like everyone, have protected vandals. I know what they felt, because I am the daughter of a single woman who despite her intelligence and qualifications struggled to earn money, because I lacked the extraordinary skills those with no parents in a trade need to get a solid job. I never starved, because I fought every day of my life. And many of those who fight still go hungry and cold," Mags swallowed, remembering the message she had to give. Her voice couldn't break.

"They call themselves rebels, they say it's to give the Capitol a lesson, to show we're not beaten, but what do they achieve beyond instant fleeting gratification and an illusion of power they do not have? If they do not help someone live better, then they have decided _feeling good_ is worth the death of dozens of sailors each year. It's _murder,_" Mags pitilessly ground out, seeing a group of teenagers shuffle uneasily in a corner. "The rules are clear," she said, "we'll get meteorology and water sanitation if the number of vandalism and violence against peacekeeper incidents for every 1000 people doesn't go above twice what it is in District One. That's low," Mags admitted, looking down, "not impossibly low, so a handful of selfish idiots won't ruin our chances, but low. Achievable low," she added, her eyes finding Marlin in the third row and taking comfort in his encouraging smile.

"It's about building a future where infants and children don't die from filthy water and all our ships return," she said, her voice rising as she willed people to _see_. "Some of you may worry that the Capitol may come back on its word, trick the numbers and never give us what they promised, but we're not fools! Every act of vandalism is obvious, peacekeepers don't get black eyes and shredded clothes on their own. We can keep our own tally too, compare the numbers. We're not fools," Mags repeated, "but we should be responsible. We do have the power to make things better. By blaming everything on the Capitol, we strip ourselves of the power we do have. Would you give away your chance to change the district to be allowed to claim nothing is your fault when things go bad? Then you _choose_ to be helpless. If you let people get away with destroying our chance at a future, you are responsible. It's not easy, nothing is ever," she said bitterly, memories of Constantine and Fife resurfacing in her mind.

It was up to the parents to educate their children, to the teenagers to open their eyes, to the neighbors to intervene when they saw people heading out with staves and stones. Everyone had to work for a better District Four. Mags could try and lead the people, but she couldn't force them to follow her. She couldn't change the District alone.

* * *

Mags clutched the pictures to her heart. Never had she been in such a hurry to be home.

A crew of journalists, probably including the one she'd given exclusivity to after the Games, but she really couldn't place any of the faces, had ambushed her after her speech. They'd asked about her illness and her return to Four, about her plans and her money. Mags had answered their questions as she would have answered Achlys', being nevertheless careful not to reveal anything the President may have considered confidential. It had taken an whole hour to convince those eager painted faces that she wasn't at the heart of any hidden juicy scandal and that she was wholly uninteresting. They never mentioned Constantine or Fife, or any of the rebels she had met by name, so Mags let herself relax slightly, glad for the small mercy of considerate guidelines. She had been soon after led to the train where her stylist, August Temple, was waiting with a literal wagon full of dresses. Apparently they were making a victor calendar, a 'before and after' perspective with the best eye-camera shots of her Games and pictures of her in fancy shimmering dresses near the sea.

Mags protests at having to pose for hours overdressed in the heat had died in her throat when she saw the pictures from the Games.

The nine best eye-camera shots included one from Lila's camera. One with her, Fife and Constantine. Mags didn't know how long she had stared, her fingers a hair's breadth from her allies' faces, as if she could be sucked back in the moment. Fife eyeing the taller handsome boy, fond exasperation sparkling in her black eyes while Constantine remained intent in ignoring Lila. They'd caught the moment where he'd turned to a resigned looking Mags and flashed her a dashing unabashed smile. The future victor, armed-crossed in her form-fitting uniform didn't hide her disapproval, but her lips twitched, making it impossible for the aristocratic boy to feel threatened.

Mags had never owned a camera. Portraits had always been done by people with a gift at drawing in exchange for a couple of meals. It took her another hour and a half of throwing a diva-worthy fit to obtain decent-sized copies of the picture, but Mags had refused to leave without.

Her eyes shone with wistful tears as she hurried across the town.

A gray envelope with _Mags Abalone_ written in capital letters rested against the sign at the bottom of the private path leading to victor's village. Mags frowned and picked it up without slowing.

Her mother's welcoming smile died as Mags closed the door behind her. "Esperanza isn't with you? I thought she'd come to get you at the mayor's house. She's late."

"No, I haven't seen her," Mags said, mirroring the woman's frown. Esperanza had finished school hours ago. She carefully put the pictures of Fife and Constantine on the table before tearing the envelope she'd found open. "There was this letter on the path," she said.

* * *

_We have Esperanza. She'll be safe for the next twelve hours, as long as we get the sum encased below. Don't think to track us, the money is to go to Riviero Gibbs by nightfall. He's not part of this, neither is the person he'll give the money to, so don't look suspicious when you do. You don't want to disappoint us._

_Naive dependable people abound, don't they? We're not going to let you turn us into Capitol lapdogs with your promises of security and health. You've messed with enough heads already._

* * *

The world around her vanished, replaced by a red fog. All her perception focused in a single clear tipped point. _Find Esperanza._

"Mags, adonde vaz? Espera!"

_'Where are you going? Wait!' _Her mother's urgent call had the effect of a gust of wind. There was something about Spanish that made Mags feel like a tiny child again, that gave her an urge to hide her eyes and clutch her mother's skirts.

She realized then that she had already thrown the front door open. She froze, eliciting screams of protest from her body. Everything was begging at her to run, to _hunt._ But where to go, who to look for? She only knew the why, and the raging anguish made her stumble and lean on the wall for balance.

"They're rebels, they won't kill her." Mags said, breathless as her heart hammered painfully in her chest. _Or would they? _"It's not just the money, Mama, they want a statement, they want me to stop making speeches." She wrung her hands together, painfully clenching her jaw to curb the animal rage inside her and buy her brain time to think. "I could call Achlys, and then what? Peacekeepers would come and they'd find a body."

"If they touch her, I'll tear them apart," Angelites vowed, her face ablaze with a vengeance that cast a dark shadow over the setting sun. She slowly picked up the phone and grit her teeth in anger rather than in surprise when she saw the line was dead.

Mags was crushed by a wave of guilt so powerful she couldn't breathe. She stood still, waiting for her mother to say the words, to tell her it was her fault, that her speech had motivated the radicals to act against her family. To tell her that she had made everyone she loved a target and that even if Esperanza was released unhurt, every day would be a threat, and danger would shadow them forever, like a rabid dog waiting for the right moment to bite.

A cough burst from the seventeen-year-old's lungs, tearing at her. Her whole body hurt, as if sludge struggled to flow in her veins and, at that moment, Mags decided that maybe she deserved to die. Her little sister, so full of life and dreams. Paying for Mags' ambitions. "I'm sorry," she choked out, feeling her whole world crumble.

"Mags," a tear-stricken Angelites said, reaching out for her shaking daughter, "I know the price of fighting. I am the mother who let her child fight the rebellion with her father instead of keeping her safe at home and I love you _every bit as much_ as I love Esperanza," she said with a soul-born ring to her voice that pervaded Mags like the heat of a bonfire after a winter storm. The dark-haired woman embraced her daughter, cradling her until her cough abated and her heart slowed.

"I do not blame you, child. You are doing what is right," she murmured in her daughter's ear, the tremble in her voice failing to tarnish the conviction in her words. "Take your medicine. We will find her, and we will make them pay."

Mags eyes fell on the town below. Such a beautiful view. Such a _useless_ view that would not reveal where her sister had been taken. The sight of the shipwrights suddenly propelled her a few days back and gave her a desperate idea. "Let's put that sheet to hang out of the balcony. People will think Glynn had a meeting with me today if they're watching."

Mags knew Glynn had been joking, but as she put the sheet out to 'dry' she now clung onto the hope that the auburn-haired girl would see the signal and pay heed. Mags couldn't think, no plan formed in her mind, maybe an outsider would help her find a solution. Anything.

Angelites pulled her flowing raven hair into a tight bun. As the tanned woman straightened her long dress, Mags saw her mother donn battle armor. She looked like nothing could ever break her and Mags' fear was momentarily replaced by unrestrained admiration.

"Glynn could know people?" Angelites said softly. She was forcing herself to be calm, but it was only a mask, a thin door struggling to hold in an impeding storm.

"No, but, right now, if I don't do something I'm heading out and killing them. Whoever them is," Mags replied in choked tones, her hands shaking from stress and rage.

"And I'd help you," her mother darkly said, her hand tightly clasping Mags' arm. The woman straightened, slowly recovering her ability to articulate ideas. "What I wonder is what they would do if we gave them the money. Four is big enough to hide in, but not enough to spend in unchecked, not such a sum," she said, her breaths harsh and slipping around her words, molding them into feverish hisses. "Either they'll make it disappear, a hundred small sums –"

"But that would mean the'd planned the kidnapping," Mags exclaimed. "It's been less than two weeks! They can't get that kind of organization."

"Or there's a black market I'm not aware of."

Black markets. Some things slipped through, especially from Five and Eleven. Portable heaters, batteries, fruit, liquor, recreational drugs… but nothing that could start a rebellion. Peacekeepers could be bribed only as long as the risk remained worth it.

Mags' snapped her head to the side. Her mother's fury had flared so brightly that a surge of heat had disrupted her musings. "I think they're counting on the fact we won't sell them out," Angelites ground out.

Mags could see that right now, her mother had never wanted anything more than to turn the kidnappers in. Her child was in danger and rebel kinship, even had the rebels been worthy, did not extend so far.

Mags' heart almost stopped as the door bell rang. She started breathing again when she recognized the silhouette behind the translucent glass door.

Glynn expression grew grave as she saw their appearance. "Two people asked me why I was coming. Nosy questions. You have undercover nine-year old bodyguards?"

Mags clenched her fist. Nine year olds as lookouts? How pathetic.

"What did you tell them?" Angelites snapped, looking ready to take the nearest chair and shatter the bay window.

"That it was about you buying a service from the Fox before she sailed, and that it'd take half an hour or so." Glynn replied quickly, a glimmer of fear entering her almond eyes at having such raw fury directed at her, even for a second. She spoke again after a tense pause, her voice a mere whisper. "You look like Four is about to lose some of its esteemed citizens."

Mags' smile was all but reassuring. "Read this," she said, handing the note over.

Glynn paled. She stared at the ransom demand, her jaw moving of its own accord until her face froze into a rigid mask and anger flared into her hazel eyes. Her emotions were so clear that Mags could almost read her thoughts.

_How dare they_! and _idiots_ seemed prevalent. Glynn's contempt gave Mags sudden hope. If it was about the execution of the plan rather than the morals, they would get Esperanza back without bloodshed.

"You'd have to be paying cash right?" Glynn said, furrowing her brow. "How do you get the Capitol to give you so much cash without batting an eye? Getting electronic markers on your money? You sure only the brain in the operation will get hit rather than everyone loosely linked to them?"

The questions pierced through Mags' anger, slightly dousing the raging inferno threatening to consume her. Worried to death about Esperanza, she hadn't even thought of how to get the money. The town's single bank didn't have enough in stock to pay the ransom. Mags had an electronic card but even she could only get notes from the bank. Only a handful of shops could take electronic payment. Traceable money... There had been quite a lot in District One.

"Go to the bank," Glynn said. "I'll call the President on your behalf, tell her to give rigged notes and explain an immediate and public clean trial where the Capitol is irreproachable will turned Four away from rebellion."

"Tell her it doesn't matter if some petty rebels escape, because she'll get the whole of the district if the Capitol plays good guy well enough." Angelites said slowly, a dark light in her hooded eyes as she latched on to the plan like a drowning man to a safety raft.

"But… that's the truth," Mags said in a small voice. She hated those kidnappers like she had never thought herself capable of hating, but the idea of giving the Capitol good ideas to quell rebellious action made her pause.

"Only extremists. Every clear-headed rebel knows that even the Capitol is not all bad," her mother said, her voice thick with scorn. "It's made of people and no matter the system, people can be moral or unscrupulous in every setting. Only children should be shocked when meeting a decent peacekeeper or even a decent Capitolite. Throwing rocks and degrading buildings is not rebellious, it's immature at best and criminal at worst. Let's get my daughter back."

Mags smiled mirthlessly. Kidnapping Esperanza had effectively torpedoed any chance at understanding and mercy she may have had. There were ideals, and then there was protecting your baby sister. And unfortunately for those people, Esperanza coming to harm was not a necessary condition for the betterment of Panem. Mags would see them dead.

Mags then turned to Glynn. She realized she'd taken the girl's help for granted.

"You're okay with doing this for us?" she whispered, aware Glynn was too bright to be oblivious to the danger.

"You're not a madwoman on a witch hunt, you want things better and you have a brain, Mags. And anyway," she said, her expression tightening with anguish laced with incredulity, "we're talking about your sister being _kidnapped_, I won't stand by and just watch." Glynn looked down, a flush creeping up her cheeks "May I bribe the peacekeepers to let me make the call? One month pay to three people tops? I'm pretty sure I can bully my way in as soon as I have a Capitolite on the phone and get to President Achlys."

Mags had to smile a little at her practicality.

"Yes," Angelites said with no hesitation. "Let's go without looking suspicious straight to the bank ten minutes after Glynn has left and hope district Four matters to Achlys as much as she lead you to believe."

"What if it doesn't?" Mags said, her eyes widening in fear. Why were they relying on the President to save Esperanza? It was so wrong. Mags should not be helpless to save her sister, she should never have to rely on Achlys or anyone she couldn't trust.

"Then we spread the word on the marketplace," Glynn said, keeping her tone low and careful, as if any loud noise would cause pandemonium to erupt around her. "Their lives will be over if the mob finds out. Kidnapping a twelve year old doesn't go over well and after your speech -"

"They could kill her if we back them in a corner!" Mags exploded. "They could hurt her and throw her in a street for us to find!" She didn't care about the culprits if it meant Esperanza would be harmed.

"Then if it fails," Glynn said, looking pensive, "you give them the money, we get her back, then we tell and people will pay for their stupidity when the peacekeepers make a descent if the town chooses to hide them."

Mags vehemently shook her head. A general interrogation... It would be a bloodbath and destroy any sympathy she may have garnered. There had to be a way to save Esperanza without sacrificing everything else.

"Maybe they want to be martyrs," Angelites said, distaste dripping from her words.

Glynn seemed to think a few seconds. "I can suggest to the President to declare that Caspian Medes and Maris Goby will be reaped if the culprits aren't turned in."

Mags and Angelites paled drastically. Those two teenagers were the soul of the town. Caspian had managed to get the abandoned lighthouse repaired the year before through sheer perseverance and force of will. The determined sixteen year old had coordinated everything, first alone, then with the adults who suddenly started believing his claims that it could be done without needing more money. The slightly older Maris, who was already married to a successful shop-owner, had turned her house into an orphanage when the first one had burned down and they somehow kept it going with minimal donations. They were exceptional, two children grown too quickly that had managed to rise above the self-centeredness born from misery and devote themselves to others. No other loss would hurt the town more.

"Don't take the risk," Mags snapped. It was wrong. Ruthless, maybe worth it, but wrong. Esperanza would never have wanted that. Better to have hotheads who called themselves rebels lashed unfairly than risk losing the few people who had vision in town. Maris and Caspian would not be murdered through any fault of hers.

"It's no risk," Glynn said confidently. "People will rat the kidnappers out as long as the Capitol only asks for the names of the leaders and promises not to investigate further. Maris and Caspian are loved and esteemed."

Mags nodded slowly, more to acknowledge the odds of it than to approve of Glynn's methods. The girl was surprisingly ruthless. If the Capitol let them do their justice… Mags pushed the darkly tempting thought out of her head. She would not drag Maris or Caspian into this nor would she reveal to Achlys how to hit her town the hardest. Her stomach rebelled at the mere thought.

"Let's stick with plan A then. I'll be going," Glynn said with a tight smile, squeezing Mags' hand briefly. "Be strong, I won't take any chances, I promise," she whispered, her eyes misting over as she gave the Abalone matriarch one last glance.

Angelites turned to her daughter as soon as Glynn was gone, hope had doused her anguish sufficiently to reveal how dangerous the dark-haired woman could be. Mags had been a war child, but until her pregnancy had entered its second trimester, her mother had fought side by side with her husband. She was no stranger to violence or distasteful decisions. Mags could not have asked for better protection.

"I believe it may work," Angelites said with a ghost of a smile as she hid twin knives inside the folds of her dress. Her expression darkened once more. "How did they know where to find Esperanza without alerting anyone? She's always accompanied, except when she cuts through the reefs, but no one knows she does, except her friends."

Mags face darkened. "And my friends." She breathed in, willing to still the homicidal rage threatening to rip apart years of closeness. "It's not a real secret, Marlin could have let it slip without thinking."

"Or Dylana could have been asked and told by someone they just wanted to have a word with Esperanza."

"She's not stupid," Mags said, refusing to let doubt creep in her anguished mind.

"What if the sibling of a good friend asked? Dee is probably as bothered by the two of you falling out than you are, and she not immune to manipulation," the woman grabbed Mags' arm. "We'll find out later, the guilty can wait. We need to get the money."

Mags nodded. She couldn't breathe. Could it be too late? Was her sister being hurt? The futility of those questions didn't loosen their choking hold. Slowly, her panic gave way to cold canalized rage.

The victor of the ninth Hunger Games straightened and gave her mother a tight intent smile.

The two women headed out under the setting sun, their blank faces impenetrable masks as their feet rhythmically struck the ground.

The white-haired Mr. Blackpool politely greeted them as they entered the quiet town. He could not have imagined the deadly storm waiting to be unleashed.

* * *

**AN**

**Mags opened a can of worms. How much will she have to pay to change Panem? The Capitol isn't always the biggest threat and now Esperanza is in direct danger.**

**Please review, if only to introduce yourselves and say you've liked what you've read up to now.**


	34. Retrieved

**Almost 7k... I've set a new record for chapter length. I hope the content is worth the attention span required^^. Thanks for your reviews.**

* * *

_Date: Year 9, September. Twelve days after Mags' victory. Part 2_

The sea shone red, ominous and menacing, when the two women set foot on the narrow beach a quarter mile south of the town. They stood well behind the harbor, where the reefs reached out all the way to the nearest bay and broke up in morsels deep into the ocean, like clawed monster awaiting sailors suicidal enough to tempt fate in those seas. Any ship bigger than a rowboat would sink were she to try and sail closer than a quarter mile off that part of the coast; beneath the calm waters lurked even more treacherous reefs eager to tear through hulls like a rabid shark through flesh.

The money had arrived by hovercraft within the hour. Mags had called the Capitol central bank and been directly referred to the President. Achlys had curtly validated the sum before hanging up. Mags mentally hugged Glynn and prayed all the powers she had ever heard of that they would safely recover Esperanza.

A single wooden boat, barely large enough for two people, was waiting for the women on the last strip of sand. Riviero Gibbs gave them a big gap-filled smile when they showed up.

"Been waiting. I'm glad to help you do your business," the old man cheerfully said, "I think you can only make things better 'round here. Don't get discouraged. People are stubborn old goats, but they've got good hearts."

Mags looked down, her jaw clenching painfully. She had to swallow back tears at the thought this honest man was being used to ransom her sister. Her mother put a hand over hers, her gentle reassuring touch so at odds with her outward stiffness. Angelites stood like an avenging Erinyes of old tales, she seemed chiseled from hard marble and ready to strike down everything in her path, and Mags was astounded that, despite the gloom, Gibbs didn't flee for his life.

Sudden shuffling near the reefs caught her attention. Two peacekeepers were pointing torches at a shadowed spot in the reefs. _What were they doing here?_ Only the older children gathering crabs and other mollusks walked the cutting reefs and never so close to nightfall, when the tide grew high and slipping could get one crippled for life.

"You there, show yourself," the shorter of the two men ordered.

Mags begged for them to have found a foolish child trying to fill one last bag-full of crabs. Sweat pearled down her forehead as the straps the backpack carrying the ransom dug in her shoulders. The peacekeepers had to leave, now, or Esperanza's captors could think she'd brought law enforcement with her.

A masked gangly figure sprang out of the reefs. It moved towards the two women, jumping from rock to rock with more agility than the foreign peacekeepers could ever hope to match. Mags tensed further, afraid she would soon snap and fall to the ground._ Masked? Why?_

"Stop moving, or we'll use stunners," the same peacekeeper barked, apparently not caring if the man crashed on the slicing reefs.

The youth stopped five yards away from Mags and stared at her through the slits in his hood.

Mags heart plummeted. No matter how hard she tried to, she couldn't hope in a lucky coincidence anymore. Why? Why couldn't things have gone according to plan?

"You got Pisscops involved?" He snarled, incredulous. "You were that stupid?"

Gibbs frowned, looking terribly confused. He grasped the cudgel in his rowboat. "Mrs. Abalone? You know the lad?"

Mags's eyes darted around and saw three more uniformed men approaching. _A whole patrol? What were peacekeepers doing here? _This wasn't their usual route._ How had Glynn managed to screw up so badly?_

"We've been keeping an eye on the victor since the first day. What's happening here?" A tall, square-jawed peacekeeper said sharply. His patrol leader insignia gleamed in the sunset light.

Mags swallowed back her unfair imprecations about Glynn. These people had nothing to do with the kidnapping. She clenched her fists so hard her nails dew blood. Even if there always were a few peacekeepers in town, how could she have not noticed she had been under loose surveillance for twelve days? One of the peacekeepers was a statuesque blonde who Mags now could not believe she hadn't identified sooner. Panic rose inside her, a crashing wave she couldn't avoid. How dearly would she pay for her distraction?

She snapped her face to the sides, desperate for a glimpse of her sister, her thoughts frantic and fragmented but her body unable to move.

"Go away, officers, _now_," Angelites said, her expression so dark that despite the distance, three of the five peacekeepers stepped back without a second thought.

The leader hesitated but didn't obey. He gestured at the others to close the distance and grab the masked youth.

The young man gave them the finger. "I thought you'd be more reasonable," he rasped, his voice rough and deep, "Or cared about the little one. You've screwed me over, ladies. I have to return the service now," he said in sickly sweet tones laced with fury, "She's really of no use to the district anymore, is she?"

Mags realized he'd kept his other hand closed over something. Something small and round and _familiar_. Something that should have disappeared after the rebellion. The seventeen-year old froze, her whole being refusing to accept what she saw.

Long-distance explosive control.

"Shoot him!" She gasped, lunging forward.

Time slowed, but she was slowed with it. Too far, she was much too far. A knife whistled past her and embedded itself in the masked man's heart before the nearest peacekeeper had the chance to arm his weapon. The man clutched his chest, his knees buckled, a gurgle escaped his lips, but his other hand only clenched the sphere harder.

_No!_

A loud noise tore through the landscape, a cracking rumble merciless and final.

A hundred yards away, in the middle of the peaceful ocean, the surfacing reef moved. It heaved and groaned and crumbled upon itself like an ancient fortress finally vanquished by time. The rock island cracked in half, an entire fraction plunging down into the depths as if it had never existed.

Mags stared, her mouth opened in shock. Her mind refused to think, her lungs forgot to breathe.

They ripped the mask off the fallen body, but Mags was too stunned to make sense of anything she saw.

"She's not dead until we have at least the certainty she was in there." There was a steel in her mother's voice that Mags had only ever glimpsed before, but it was not enough to shake her out of her stupor.

"A ship, officers," Angelites said. Her curt order, delivered so soon after she had silenced a man with a single knife, had the effect of a whiplash.

_Not dead, not dead._ Those words filled Mags' mind, over and over, vibrant shouts and gentle whispers, occluding everything else. The victor didn't notice people milling all around her, she didn't move, as if her world was on hold.

An emergency flare sailed from the fractured island through the orange and blue sky. It petered out almost instantly, as if it was too old to still be on a ship. But it captured Mags' attention like a lighthouse's glare.

"Someone's alive," one of the peacekeepers said.

The words seemed to echo. _Alive._ Mags slowly focused on the sea before her. The roar of peacekeepers' inflatable motor boats filled the air.

She started breathing again when she recognized her sister's raven hair on the returning boat. When the twelve year old jumped off the boat and ran towards their mother, Mags' legs moved towards them of their own accord, but she lacked the energy to cheer. She stopped a foot away from her kneeling mother and sobbing sister, soaking up the sight in sheer relief.

Fate had been kind, but Mags had never felt so little in control. How could she have missed peacekeepers trailing her for _twelve_ days? Her blindness had almost cost her sister her life. Mags hands would not stop shaking.

A familiar voice made Mags start. "Does he get directly put in a cell, or did he grow a brain –or a heart- and help you, Esperanza?"

Mags turned to Glynn and realized she was pointing to the young man the peacekeepers were holding. He'd been in the same boat as her sister. He'd been part of this. Mags felt her blood boil.

He was tall, with long muscled limbs and a slightly hunched frame and scars on his bare chest that proved he'd come out on top of a fair few fights. Or he was unspeakably clumsy with the hooked nets... He lifted his wide green-eyes and Mags frowned, aware she should recognize him. Light freckles covered his clean-shaved face and unmarked skin proving he had land-bound trade.

Her brain clicked. Kyle. He'd coordinated the sale second-hand school furniture at school. He had to be nineteen now. Mags had good memories of him, he'd been useful, friendly and handsome. Now, her jaw clenched in rage. Someone she'd known and talked to. Someone who had smiled to her, who was part of her life. A _murderer_. How many monsters were concealed behind masks of normalcy?

Her sister must have said something, because the peacekeepers' hold loosened slightly.

"Who else was involved in this?" The patrol leader asked.

"You set me up to harm the kid? I'll break ya legs, Boy," Gibbs spluttered in rage, waving his cudgel menacingly. He was soon restrained by one of the peacekeepers, and Mags' heart went out to him. How horrible he had to feel, used like a half-wit. "I swear, I'm going to found every one of you an' knock so much sense into ya that you won't be walking 'till spring!"

Kyle ignored both of them, looking ill. He turned to Mags, his green eyes haunted.

"I was told that your sister was to be used to open negotiations and create some sort of committee so that you didn't take decisions concerning our district alone. We wanted a say in the ways things were done too." His voice broke slightly when he saw the dead body on the beach. "I… When I saw there were explosives, with her tied up, I… I'm sorry, I never imagined Douglas would be so insane." Kyle raised his clenched fist to his mouth. "He blew Rio, Calder and Genny up before they could get out. If the rocks didn't crush them, the water getting in soon will."

_So he agreed to kidnapping and thought it would be alright as long as no one got hurt?_ Mags fumed with poorly concealed rage and disdain. Couldn't they have tried to contact her like civilized beings first? The victor could understand people not trusting her and wanting control of her money, but this she couldn't understand. Never had she thought any in her family risked being physically harmed, not in her calm little town, now harsh reality had caught up with her. Now that Esperanza was safe, anger was slowly burning away the last of the panic.

"There's a chance the others are trapped but alive. The explosion wasn't that violent," Glynn said, her face ashen and her voice hesitant, as if she was apologizing for pointing out that particular fact.

Mags snapped her head back towards the crumbled reefs. Kyle's earlier words finally registering. "We should dig them up," she said, her voice still thick from fright and rage. They had minutes if the three were underwater. She stopped to stare at the peacekeepers, slightly horrified they would leave three wounded people in the middle of the sea without an afterthought. Kyle had to have told them.

"On a volunteer basis," the peacekeeper leader said, sounding unconcerned as he met her gaze. "We'll not be risking our lives to move collapsed rocks in a submerged cave for such trash."

"I'm going," Mags said without any hesitation, feeling her limbs loosen and fresh oxygen clear her mind. Justice wasn't about letting people drown, they had no time to lose. If she wanted to stop this craziness once and for all, she needed to show everyone that there was nothing to admire in those fools. She needed them alive and sorry, or alive and unrepentant criminals, bad enough for the world to see the truth. She was glad not to recognize the names, even if Rio sounded familiar.

Her mother stood up and put a restraining hand on her shoulder, the other still linked with Esperanza's. "The boy can give us their addresses. We'll have their parents and friends flex their muscles."

"Genny and Calder are from Sickleport," Kyle replied in low tones, looking anywhere but at the incensed woman glaring daggers at him.

"Well, Sickle Bay isn't far, is it? Have the mayor call their mayor and hope their parents own a fast boat," Angelites replied coldly.

"Mama, I'll help," Mags said, determined as her sister all but dived in her arms. "We can't stand by and let them drown, it's just wrong," she said, her eyes on her mother as she clung on to Esperanza. With her sister's warmth seeping into her, she was feeling more herself again.

The raven-haired woman glared. Mags could see that she didn't want to help, not at _all_. These people had hurt her child and would maybe try to hurt her in a last desperate attempt to escape capture. Angelites' dark eyes then softened, and Mags knew that her mother understood that her eldest daughter couldn't live with herself if she didn't at least try.

"Well come on," Angelites said tightly to the peacekeeper steering the boat, the feminine blonde woman. "Glynn, mind my daughter. If she complains to me later, I'll kill you."

Glynn winced but quickly shook herself and nodded.

"Don't go," Esperanza muttered against Mags' chest, her arms crushing her ribs.

Mags brushed Esperanza's face with a hand, relieved to see no marks on her smooth skin. "I'll be as quick as I can," she promised, her voice made thick by the hurt in her sister's tearful eyes. It felt so wrong to leave her to Glynn so soon.

But Mags couldn't let people drown, guilty or not, and no one else would help.

Glynn took Esperanza's hand and gently lead her away. The thin all-too-polite smile she flashed at Kyle when he made a move to follow showed she certainly wouldn't tolerate him tagging along.

Mags spared the young man one last look. He'd made the right choice in the end and saved her sister. Despite the rage still churning in her stomach, and the irrational sense of betrayal, she couldn't pretend to ignore it. She promised herself to ask the peacekeepers to treat him right before there could be a trial.

* * *

**Esperanza's POV**

The expression on Glynn's face could only be interpreted as _oh shit_ as if she didn't want to do this. Esperanza still found herself clinging to the older girl, feeling wretched and abandoned. The sight of her mother and sister leaving made her want to cry and run back to them. How could they leave her alone? It was almost nightfall and she needed them now.

"The fact that your mother preferred to indulge Mags' saving people thing rather than ordering her to bundle you home speaks volumes on how strong they believe you are, even if it's just subconsciously" Glynn said, following her gaze. "If they thought you couldn't handle it, trust me, the criminal idiots who hurt you would have been left to drown."

Esperanza suddenly noticed the shock mingled with awe in the older girl's eyes and her emotions were replaced by something very different. Something warm and bright and powerful. It was so sudden she almost stumbled in shock.

The shaken girl finally straightened and smiled triumphantly. They weren't fussing over her not because they didn't think she was upset enough to be worth not helping the morons who had stolen her away, but because Mags _couldn't _let people die. Mags had survived the Hunger Games, she was strong beyond belief, but she was hurt too. It killed Esperanza to know there was so little she could do to help except being cheerful and affectionate and show Mags that she was awesome, but now... Her mother believed a stupid kidnapping didn't make her a load. She was strong enough to help Mags, even now.

She was now grinning stupidly, as if she'd taken a warm shower and taken a nap. "I hadn't realized."

There would be all the time in the world for hugs and kisses later.

"They'll still apologize, because they just physically can't not protect you, but don't mistake it for them thinking you're weak."

Esperanza nodded. She'd never hated being the youngest before, even if that meant she was babied more than was fair, but now, she couldn't wait to grow up to be strong and truly part of what her mother and Mags were going through. Glynn's words made her hope this would happen sooner than she had feared. She sat down near Glynn on the sandy grass, just far enough not to see the dead man on the ground. Esperanza hadn't seen his face, she wondered what had happened.

"So what was their awesome reasoning for sticking you on a ship and saying they had a right to half of your sister's hard earned money?" Glynn said, her lips curled in distaste.

Esperanza snorted, not wanting to show how the way they had spoken of Mags had hurt. "That it's not our money. They said that if we care about Four, we need to listen to them because they know how things really are and Mags doesn't. They shouted a lot in my face, but they were repeating the same thing over and over."

Had they been so brave, they could have volunteered themselves. Esperanza hadn't bothered to listen once they'd said Mags was weak and didn't know what had to be done. They had no idea of what strength really was.

"Loud and repetitive until it sinks in," Glynn said with a resigned smirk, "did you tell them that's a Capitol tactic?"

"I was too scared to," Esperanza admitted, letting her head fall against Glynn's shoulder. They would probably have punched her and some people just couldn't be argued with, especially when they were in groups. She was glad Glynn agreed they were stupid. Somehow, it made her feel less bad about not having tried to tell them the truth.

"You know, if they insisted so much about Mags being wrong, it proves her speech struck a chord. People are listening to her, I heard them talking when she had left. In time, false rebels won't get away with their behavior anymore. Mags will make things change like she wants to."

Esperanza smiled. Said like that, things seemed much brighter. Hopefully, Mags would see it too and start to relax again.

Glynn put an arm around the younger girl's. "They didn't traumatize you out of trusting guys who glance at your breasts, did they?"

Esperanza snapped her head up and stared. How had she known? Glynn had a way of making it sound so silly.

"The loud one, their leader, he said it was a pity I wasn't older because he was bored," she said making sure her jacket was closed. Her pretty new jacket, and they'd said it Mags had bought it for her with the blood of district children. She shivered, hating them and their words. "He was staring at me. The others didn't look so cool with him saying that, so I wasn't too scared. There was a girl there too, but they all had masks on. Kyle took his off when he shot the flare."

"The leader... The tall thin man with the gravelly voice?" Glynn swallowed when Esperanza nodded angrily. "Douglas... He's the one who blew up the reef. Your Mum killed him. She… she threw a knife at his heart."

_Her mother had…?_ Esperanza's eyes widened. "She did that? Will she be in trouble?" She hadn't known her mother was good with knives like that.

She wasn't sorry for Douglas at all.

"No. There's something inherently scary about your family, you know? They're badass, but scary. I now see where Mags comes from," Glynn's voice dropped to a whisper, "I don't think I could kill."

"You ask yourself too many questions," Esperanza said with a shrug. "Someone threatens your family, you defend yourself. Killing an innocent is unforgivable and you deserve to be judged and punished, but someone who wants to harm you like that asked for it."

She hadn't killed, but if someone kidnapped Mags or her mother, she knew she wouldn't stand around to negotiate.

Glynn sighed. "Rebel education," she muttered, sounding resigned.

"Well, _yeah_," Esperanza said with a chuckle. She climbed onto the older girl's lap. "I was so scared. I thought about jumping off the boat so many times. The rope knot wasn't very strong, and maybe I could've swam fast enough," she said, her lower lip trembling, "but probably not and I was afraid they'd throw a knife at me if I got away, to wound me and slow me down, but that they'd miss and kill me."

"It's responsible to wait for rescue sometimes. It's brave even. I imagine that waiting without doing anything is worse than trying out some half-assed escape plan."

Esperanza nodded, reassured. She still wished she could have done something more useful than just wait and keep her mouth shut. She lifted her eyes to Glynn. The short-haired girl was both prettier and nicer than she had expected. "Mama said you're exhausting. I think you're okay."

"It's because I've been telling you you're awesome, Sweetheart," Glynn said, flashing her a grin, "do you mind if I braid your hair properly? It's a bird's nest."

Esperanza nodded with a small smile, finding suddenly hilarious that Glynn would want to do her hair right now. The teenager fished a comb out of her bag.

Esperanza let the girl's gentle tugging at her hair soothe her. "I should cut it," she said, "long is stupid with the salt and everything. It's little girl hair. It's twice as long as Mags and hers touches her shoulders already. Mama doesn't swim, so she can afford it, but I love to swim."

The twelve year old clicked her mouth shut. She couldn't believe she was talking about her hair in a moment like this. Glynn was going to think she was an airhead. yet it was her fault for doing her hair in the first place.

"Grow up whenever you're ready," Glynn said with a smile, "but you won't have to work, except to learn crafts, grow tough and bond with people, so you can use the extra time to learn to braid your hair nicely and buy expensive strengthening shampoos and other cool Capitol stuff."

"Capitol stuff isn't cool," she replied automatically, surprised Glynn would even want one of their shampoos.

"So the medicine that saved your sister isn't?"

Esperanza stuck her tongue out. She had meant that behind each of their objects, there was a hungry family working too hard for too little.

"Keep your hair long a while longer," Glynn said with annoying fake seriousness.

Esperanza punched her on the shoulder. "Don't patronize me."

"Was gratuitous violence also part of your education, young lady?"

Esperanza punched her again, refusing to let Glynn make her feel silly. "Don't push me, Glynn. I just got kidnapped, be nice."

"Rescued too," Glynn pointed out, "and if I'm too perfect, you'll regret me giving you back to your mum and sister."

Esperanza snorted. "Fat chance of that happening," she said, her attention now on Glynn's many bracelets. They were gorgeous, woven in thin dyed rope with all kind of motives. She wondered if she could get Glynn to make her one later. "Why were you upset when Mama told you to take care of me?"

Glynn rolled her eyes. "Upset? No, I was terrified. Cheering someone up is a big responsibility," her voice fell to a tense mutter, "especially when their knife-throwing parent is so worked up." Glynn smiled. "You're tougher than I thought."

Esperanza looked down. She hadn't felt so tough back then. She'd been so scared they'd refuse to free her and no one would ever think to look in that small cave hidden in the reefs. There was no way in except from the sea and if she had screamed to get attention, they'd have ambushed and killed whoever would have tried to get in and they'd have hurt her too. She shivered and then blushed for shivering, afraid Glynn would think her silly.

"Esperanza, you were grabbed by surprise, stuck on a boat, led to a cave, shouted at by cretins with an over-inflated sense of their own intelligence and morality and then almost blown up. I'm sure they threatened Mags and Angelites and..." Glynn stopped. "I'd be worried if you_ weren't_ upset," she said in gentle tones.

Esperanza tensed, more in anger than in fear. Her mother was ten times more clever than those idiots and would kill them in a heartbeat. Even if they ganged up and used brute strength, there were always peacekeepers keeping an eye on Mags and her mother. Esperanza had never been so glad for peacekeepers. _Who'd have thought the Capitol would ever defend her family?_ Pride filled her at the irony. She still couldn't believe Mags had gotten the President to do what she wanted.

"About the threats," Glynn continued. "Tell your family everything, your doubts and all. Whatever those _genii _thought up, Mags already thought about ages ago and she'll have answers. About the near death experience, I suggest fireworks to avoid getting scared of explosions, and I also think that no matter how obvious or silly it feels to ramble about it, you should. It might also get Mags to talk more to you about how she felt during the Games to show you that no fear is ridiculous."

The last sentence sparked Esperanza's interest. Mags had been really closed off about the Games. "Talking will get Mags to treat me more like an adult and talk about the Hunger Games?"

"It's likely." Glynn poked Esperanza's nose, an amused cast to her face.

Esperanza was tempted to try and bite her finger. Glynn was much more fun than she'd expected, but so damn patronizing.

"Don't just do it to manipulate your sister, Hope," Glynn said, her tone serious once more. "To be a strong adult, it's better to deal with dark stuff quickly to avoid being dragged down once it's become baggage."

Esperanza nodded, coloring a little at being called Hope. Her uncle had called her that. She missed him and cousin Lazuli. She hated that they had left to go back to One. It was such a stupid thing to do. She hoped they weren't dead and hated that she'd probably never see them again. What was so great about District One that her uncle had had to leave them?

She nodded a second time to show she meant it. She didn't want to become a weakling who squeaked at every loud noise because of stupid people who had almost blown her up. She shivered at the thought. Capitol fireworks then. Maybe they could throw a small party in town. The Capitol didn't like parties, not in the districts, but Mags was good at talking them into things.

"Do you know someone who's deadly at hand to hand combat? You know, in case this happens again?" Esperanza said. She needed to learn how to rescue herself. People couldn't go around thinking kidnapping her might work. They had to stop being idiots and start listening to Mags.

"I don't, but I'm sure someone around here has to be," Glynn's lips broadened into a guilty grin. "Ask your sister about Vicuña, you never know."

Esperanza's eyes widened in dismay. She hadn't seen those Games, but she'd heard enough. That's not who she'd had in mind, at all. "Yeah… she's deadly alright." She wasn't sure she was that comfortable with it anymore.

She then shivered, remembering the rough hands forcing her to the ground and throwing her on the boat as if she was a sack of fish. Esperanza squared her shoulders. She wouldn't be helpless.

"I'll ask Mags about her. Vicuña sure knew her stuff."

"We'll get someone to walk you home all the way if Mags can't anyway, and -"

Glynn abruptly grabbed Esperanza by the arm and lifted both of them up. She gestured at the group of peacekeepers keeping people away. Esperanza quickly saw them part to reveal Dylana and Marlin. The girl mustered a brave smile for Mags' friends. They looked terrible.

"What happened?" Dylana said, flushed with worry. "Are you alright Esperanza? Where is Mags?"

"Kidnapping," Glynn said with a tight expression. "Mags and Angelites are trying to limit the collateral damage." Glynn turned to Esperanza and frowned. "Where did you get caught, Hope?"

"Over there," the girl mumbled pointing at the reefs closest to the path to victor's village. She was never going to cut through there again. Ever.

Dylana and Marlin both paled, but Esperanza couldn't tell if it was because they'd done anything. They looked horrified more than anything, and that reassured Esperanza tremendously, even if she didn't think they would ever have betrayed Mags. They'd been around forever and Esperanza liked them both a lot.

"Who?" Dylana whispered. She was gazing at her feet, her eyes wide and far away as if she couldn't believe this had happened.

Esperanza barely believed it herself. She clutched Glynn's arm with both hands, wanting it all to be just a bad dream. Even now, her heart hammered feverishly again, refusing to slow.

"Douglas, Kyle -who thankfully grew a conscience- and three others, two from Sickleport and Rio, the deckhand with the shaved head. They're still stuck on the reef Douglas blew up," Glynn smiled grimly at Dylana's gasp. "Yes, _blew up_, and blew up thinking Esperanza would get killed and not caring a whit about his four friends." The short-haired girl's voice took a strong sarcastic edge. "You know, for the good of District Four and to show those trashy Capitolites that we're not stupid and are so much better and clever than Mags when it comes to doing good. It's always interesting to note that those angry well-meaning idiots are those who get the least useful stuff done," Glynn said, her tight smile directed specifically at Dylana.

Dylana bristled. Her eyes flared with fury. "I'd never hurt Mags like that!"

Esperanza's eyes narrowed in utter confusion. Why would Dee feel the need to say that? She wasn't like those people. She couldn't be.

"And had it been another victor's anonymous twelve year old sister? Imagine she'd been a little less cute."

Esperanza inhaled sharply. She didn't understand why Glynn was suddenly being mean. The air sizzled with tension, as if lightning was about to strike.

Marlin moved in between the two seventeen year olds, grabbing an arm Esperanza hadn't see Dylana raise. "Listen -," he tried.

"Are you accusing me, Glynn?" The brunette spat, growing redder by the second. "I never said a word to that madman."

"No," Glynn said, "I'm telling you you're now hanging with the kind of people who'd do that. They flocked to you when Mags won precisely to use you to get to her. Mags said truer things that have been said in a while this morning."

"You're hanging with people like Douglas?" Esperanza exclaimed, betrayal squeezing at her throat like a rough cord. _How could she?_

"No," Dylana exclaimed, her face falling. "You really think I'd be friends with people who'd blow you up?"

Esperanza felt suddenly awful. She really wanted to say no, but she wasn't sure what to believe anymore.

"You think Douglas' friends knew he'd do that? _Of course_ they didn't," Glynn said, rolling her eyes. "They just were stupid enough to think that someone who says 'whatever it takes to get control over the money that should be rightfully ours' meant 'except blowing up kids, of course'. People who think details are beneath them and dismiss collateral damage for their _noble_ cause will cause collateral damage, Dylana."

_Like me_, Esperanza thought, feeling tiny all of a sudden. She clutched Glynn harder, hating how helpless she felt. _Collateral_. It sounded so cold and evil.

"You've always been a presumptuous bitch, you know that?" Dylana spat, looking as if she'd been struck. Tears were beginning to pool in her eyes. "My best friend's sister gets hurt and you convince her I'm the enemy?"

"She's expecting you to defend yourself instead of attacking her, Dee. You haven't talked, not really, to Mags yet," Marlin lifted his hands up in a placating gesture when his friend shot him a venomous glance. "I know why you haven't, I'm not saying you should have. I'm saying that Glynn is trying to get you to say what you think for once instead of bottling it in. Mags didn't tell us she'd volunteer, and it's hard, but we need to get over it."

"The Games weren't about you, Dylana," Glynn said, her eyes full of understanding, "but I won't pretend they didn't affect you,_ hurt_ you, a lot. You're being taken advantage of by people who are telling you what you want to hear but also destroying all the faith you have in your best friend, _on purpose_. They're parasites and you should be very careful. Unless you can tell me Yarrow and his friends haven't been sitting in a circle mumbling about how unfair and cruel things are and growing even more hateful without doing anything real."

Who was Yarrow? Esperanza was confused, and afraid, because it sounded bad. She also felt bad for Dee and didn't understand why the girl hadn't come to see them during the Games. They could have freaked out together and her mother could have made her less angry at Mags. Her sister didn't deserve to be angry at, not by her friends.

"Mags thinks she's smarter than Achlys, but she's not. She's trapped. She's their pawn," Dylana said, staring anguished at the tiny figures moving around on the shattered reef.

"No she's not," Esperanza snapped."Why does making people stop breaking windows to protect us from tornadoes make her a pawn? It'll be District Four lives saved, not Capitol!"

That Yarrow guy went around saying that Mags was some puppet? Esperanza scowled. She vowed to kick his ass once she'd have learned to defend herself properly. She couldn't wait to begin now.

"Mags is constructive and she knows that getting the Capitol to approve of something doesn't mean hurting the District," Glynn said. She wasn't raising her voice but she said things in such an assertive way that Esperanza couldn't imagine the truth to be any different. "I'm not saying she's right all the time, but she knows to listen. Mags earned her power, she didn't get it by accident. She took a risk, she's planning every step of the way, giving only what she has to, to do what is best. And if you think the Games are a stupid risk to take, Caspian and Maris didn't volunteer, they gave themselves the means to change things. Why doesn't Yarrow do that? He can't pretend he needs money or influence, Caspian didn't have either before."

Dylana swallowed, the heat seemed to have left her face but her traits were still hard. "I heard you," she muttered, "I'm glad you weren't hurt, Esperanza. I need to go."

_Go_ was just another word for _running away_. Dylana turned around and all but started running.

Esperanza wasn't sure if she should give Dee a hug or throw a stone at her to knock her brain back into place. She'd never felt so conflicted. Friendships weren't supposed to be complicated.

"She did hear you," Marlin said, looking exhausted. "She'll eventually realize she's wrong. She's not stupid. You just can't imagine what Mags volunteering without telling did to her. She feels betrayed and she's furious, all the time. She's really worried about Mags and somehow got in her head that Mags is being used and has to be saved. She says Mags could have been hijacked for all we know."

Esperanza scowled again. Dee had know Mags for ages, how could she think that? But dread burrowed in her insides at the mention of the word _hijacked_. Deep down, she knew that her sister was herself, but the fact the Capitol could do that... She didn't even want to think about it.

"Hijacking is messy and obvious when triggered, not a smooth alteration of personality, ask the veterans," Glynn said with forced patience. She crossed her arms, worry clouding her features. "If Dylana comes around in six months, that's still enough to cause an insane amount of damage, and the guilt will follow her forever."

"So what do I do, put her on house arrest?" Marlin snapped, his voice rising. He paused, calming down. "She's talking to me now, if she stops, there will just be Yarrow, Brooke and the other four idiots whispering in her ear. It doesn't help that Yarrow is so _understanding_ and _handsome_."

Glynn's face darkened further. "I had to call her out, Marlin. She needs to vent or she'll say these things to Mags, and Mags doesn't need to be told she's a deluded murderer who's using blood money stolen from the districts right now. Dylana shouldn't even_ think_ that, no matter how furious."

Esperanza gasped. How could_ anyone_ think to say that? Yet is was disgustingly similar to what _they_'d told her. The two ships were coming back, and Esperanza hoped Mags had been able to save someone, because her big sister really didn't need a new reason to be sad, but she also hoped the three would have big painful scars from the explosion. They deserved them.

"What can Yarrow tell Dee that you can't?" She said in a small voice. Why would Dylana listen to all the wrong people?

Glynn sighed and pursed her lips in annoyance. "That he's not judging her."

Marlin chuckled, earning himself a glare from Glynn, but she was smiling a bit.

"I need guy friend. Girls are driving me insane," Marlin said, wiping sweat off his brow. "You free tomorrow, Glynn? We should talk."

Glynn nodded. "Eleven AM, your place?"

"Sure, " Marlin said with a smile that Esperanza found oddly shy.

Marlin reached out to squeeze Esperanza's shoulder. "You're tough, remember that," he said with an earnest smile, "you'll be better soon. We'll get to the bottom of this. Dee cares, she's just thick sometimes. I'll run after her before she gets odd ideas."

Esperanza wrapped her arms around herself and sat back down on the sandy grass as she watched Marlin's leave. She was still curious about his smile to Glynn. There was no way she wouldn't have known about Marlin dating. "You two have history?"

Glynn's affectionate smile was tinged with wistfulness."We were great friends when we were little. He ditched me for your sister and Dylana when we were ten. He was self-conscious of people's opinions and I was apparently too embarrassing to be around."

Esperanza's mouth split into a cheeky grin. "I'm sorry, but I can't fault his taste. You're cool, but Mags is awesome."

She squealed when Glynn treacherously tickled her.

* * *

**AN**

**The second POV was to show things are happening all around Mags too, in addition to giving us insight on Esperanza.**

**Esperanza means Hope in Spanish, for those who missed it, hence Glynn's nickname for the girl. She wasn't being very original.**

**Almost all the names from Four are regular names with sea/water-related meanings. The little we had from canon showed District Four used rather 'traditional' names, not really fancy ones.**

**Please review.**


	35. Gathering Support

_Date: Year 9, September. Twelve days after Mags' victory. Part 3_

"Girl, wait until we stop!"

"Let her be," Angelites said in soft tones.

Mags jumped off the stifling boat and into the shallow water, caring neither for her soaked and filthy clothes nor for the peacekeepers waiting for her on the shore. She filled her lungs with fresh air, willing the stench of blood scoured away. Away, she wanted to get away from the senseless violence, the madness of it all.

Three hundred yards away from the broken reef, Genny's piercing screams still echoed in her mind.

The black-haired girl had been tiny but stout, and only the wind had kept her screams from reaching the shore. They'd found her red-faced and thrashing, her body slick from sweat as she tried to keep her face above the water and free her leg from the sharp large rock pinning it down. It had taken the strength of the four of them to get her out and even then Gibbs' shirt was barely enough to garrote the leg and stop the blood loss. The limb had been sliced and crushed Mags hoped the girl, more a woman, was agile with her hands, for she'd never be quick on her feet anymore.

The boy from Sickleport, Calder, was physically unscathed, but he'd been trapped in the collapsed cave the longest. The peacekeeper who'd agreed to drive the boat found him almost unconscious, purple and shivering in the water, barely clinging to the reefs. Angelites had breathed life back into his heart, but there was no way to tell how long he'd been under and if his mind was fine. Upon seeing those broken people, Mags felt every wish of vengeance flee her heart. They would pay for their crimes every day of their lives.

It was the sight of Rio which had almost made Mags lose the contents of her stomach. The young woman had scraped her hand against the rocks in horror and rage when she'd seen Rio's mangled body lying limp in pool of blood and water. He'd been thrown face first into the sharp reefs. His arm and wrist lay at an impossible angle and his face was mangled beyond recognition. Not even the Games had prepared her for such a sight. It took all of Mags' willpower to close the distance between them and carry him to the boat.

Rio, a sailor boy on the Seaman's Compass. Mags had known almost nothing about him before today, but the fresh tattoos on his broad shoulders had told his tale to all who laid their eyes on him. A crow holding an hourglass, an open locket on a bloodied silk tissue: his mother had been executed. He was younger than she was. Rio Anchor, Gibbs had said. Mags had worked for his uncle, a fair, solid man, since she had turned fourteen. The boy's chest had still been heaving, in irregular stubborn attempts to cling on to existence.

Mags knew Rio wouldn't make it and suddenly, a sense of terrible waste had washed over her. She couldn't save him even if she tried. Achlys had made it clear that she had permission to buy Capitol medicine only for her family and close friends and only her mother and sister could, in the direst of emergencies, be flown to the Capitol. The victor blinked back tears of frustration.

Esperanza was waiting for her on the sandy grass. Her unblemished skin and brittle smile captured the last of the red sun's rays, and Mags could almost allow herself to imagine all this had been a bad dream. Her little sister stood tall, unharmed, her braid much too perfect for someone who had just been assaulted.

Mags smiled, awe coloring her ashen face. No sound exited her mouth as she failed to tame the tempest of emotions swirling inside her.

"I'll walk you to school from now on, until we figure out something," she finally said, a part of her wondering why she didn't just hug her sister instead of staring like blind woman offered sight.

Esperanza gasped. "Your hand is bleeding."

"It's nothing, just a shallow cut," Mags said dismissively. "I'm so happy to see you, Angel."

"Vicuña could fight with her hands," Esperanza began shyly, walking up to her sister and grasping her arm.

_What?_

"It was Glynn's idea. I want to learn to defend myself, physically."

Vicuña? Mags turned slowly towards Glynn, who had the good grace to look abashed. "_Vicuña?_"

Yet, was it such a bad idea? Her willful sister had little in common with the first Career. Mags was confident Esperanza would not misuse any skills she was taught.

"I'll be going, you don't need me anymore. You know where to find me," Glynn said, with an awkward salute. A quick smile flashed on her lips. "See you, Hope."

"Bye," Esperanza said with a grin. Her smile fell as her huge dark eyes turned to Mags. She eagerly squeezed her hands. "Did you save them?"

Mags' stomach churned. What must her little sister think of her? Rushing off to help her kidnappers instead of being the supportive adult she was supposed to be.

"They're dead?" Esperanza whispered, paling. A sob escaped her throat. "I'm so sorry."

Mags' face fell in dismay. "No, _no,"_ she hurriedly said._ "_Only Rio's in real danger. We got there in time. I just..." Mags' throat constricted painfully. "Was it alright with Glynn?"

Esperanza grinned again, "I'm so selfish," she said with a chirpy glee that made Mags' spirits soar.

How could the girl be so radiant in a time like this? Mags smiled back, soaking up her sister's positive emotions even though they confused her greatly.

"I'm so happy that you're so upset and I get to be strong in a way that matters right now," Esperanza said with a little laugh, hugging Mags harder. "It's been so horrible to always be the weak one, the one that had to be protected and kept in the dark." Esperanza let out a loud breath. "You have no idea, Big Sis. Glynn told me why you needed to save them. I'm glad you didn't make yourself miserable for my sake and trusted me to be strong. It's so nice to know I can help." She giggled again and looked down. "It's so selfish to think like that. I'm sorry, but-" her voice trailed off, but Mags could almost feel her smile against her chest. She brought her hand to Esperanza's head, returning her sister's embrace.

Esperanza was happy, that was all that mattered. Mags was too drained to ponder it further.

She heard movement behind her and tensed. She relaxed again when a cool hand gently fell on her neck.

"Let's go home, children."

"The peacekeepers?" Mags wearily asked, wishing everyone save her mother and sister would disappear. "Kyle -"

"Tomorrow," Angelites said softly, "it's all fine."

A huge weight lifted off Mags' shoulders. The seventeen year old had never found her mother so beautiful.

* * *

The three came to an abrupt halt at the edge of town. A woman's scream, a scream heavy with anguish and rage, pierced through the gloom. It was growing louder, coming closer.

Guilt sent electricity sizzle up Mags' limbs and pulled her out of her state of drowsy relief and giddiness. She hadn't been there to hear her mother convince the peacekeepers not to escort them home and now she cursed her lack of foresight. She had wanted to believe her mother was invincible and perfect instead of a shaken woman clinging to her privacy, to the illusion of a normal life, after almost losing her youngest daughter.

Now someone was running towards them.

"You killed my son! You cold-hearted harpy! Child-murderer!" A gray-haired woman shrieked, tears spilling down her swollen face as she ran towards them with her fist raised.

Angelites voice was soft and unyielding, but her face was deathly pale and her lips trembling when she turned to face Mrs. Garron. "I should have let him kill my daughter?"

"He just wanted you to give us what was our right to have. You destroyed me! My son, he was my life. My life is over, you-"

"Well in that case, I'd be happy to end what I started," the raven-haired woman ground out, causing the other to freeze a few feet away from her.

Esperanza gasped at the sight of the gleaming blade but Mags wasn't scared for Douglas' mother. She was scared for her own. Angelites' grip on the weapon was all wrong. She stood stiff, her shoulders' hunched, as if steeling herself to take a blow. Her face tight and her dark eyes dim. The woman looked brittle. The fire that had animated in the last hours had died, and Angelites seemed to struggle not to collapse. Mags clasped her mother's free arm, and squeezed her hand.

A wiry man with leathery skin grabbed the frenzied woman by the shoulder. Mags noticed a terrified girl hovering a few steps behind in the darkness.

"She's just in shock," the man hastily said, his voice thick with unshed tears, "she still sees Douglas as the spirited kid he used to be. She's his mother, he could do no wrong in her eyes. She's not dangerous, she's just grieving. Don't kill her," he begged, his voice breaking.

"Shut up, Hurley," the woman said venomously, clutching her heart. "He's your son! You should be killing her for me, for _Doug_," her voice rose to a shriek of agony, "for the grandchildren we'll never have!"

Mags' eyes went from him to the fourteen year old girl standing behind her father and staring terrified at the unfolding scene. Unlike them, Mags knew her mother would not throw the knife. The weapon was simply there as a shield.

"Mama, let's go home," she said, tugging on her mother's arm. She had nothing to say to these people and any apology remained stuck in her throat. No parent should have to bury their child, but Douglas had dug his own grave.

"_You_," Mrs. Garron screeched, throwing off her husband and barreling towards Mags as she registered the victor's presence. "You filth! You should have died, it's your fault, curse -"

Mags punched the hysterical woman's jaw like she had punched Keane over two weeks before, but this time she felt no guilt. She watched Mrs. Garron fall limp on the ground, her shoulder taking the brunt of the fall and forced herself to remember this was a grieving mother.

Mags forced Esperanza and her mother to turn and leave. The sudden silence was as welcome as it was oppressive.

"She'll be conscious again in seconds. Take her home, Sir. Let her grieve in a reasonable way and keep whoever would still support Douglas away from my family," she said in icy tones.

No further harm would come to her family, not on her watch.

The man knelt by his wife's side and nodded, his worn traits tight with grief and resignation.

Mags turned her back to them, half-dragging her mother as she hastily walked back towards their house on the cliff.

"Give me the keys. I'll run home," Esperanza said as soon as Douglas' family was out of sight, anger barely concealed in her tone. She huffed as the other two failed to mask their confusion. "You won't talk in front of me, so let me go. I won't sulk, relax. Just talk to each other," she said, worry plain in her dark eyes as she stared at their mother.

Mags managed a proud smile as she handed her sister the keys, wondering when Esperanza had grown up. The path to the house was lit, Esperanza wouldn't leave their sight.

"I never thought I'd ever kill a boy," Angelites whispered after a few seconds, sorrow aging her face twenty years. "A boy from _this_ town…"

"He was twenty years old," Mags corrected, having no better answer to offer. Douglas had been old enough to make his choices, horrifying as they had been.

"A _boy_. A selfish idiot boy. A boy who cared for nothing or no one save his dreams of fiery destruction."

Mags found nothing to say. How could she argue with guilt? Reason was as useful as a sharp sword against a raging fire. Instead she asked a question that had been keeping her awake in the evenings.

"Mama, who do you go to to cry?" Her hands wrapped themselves over the ashen-faced woman's. "I'm very serious," Mags said softly when her mother simply squeezed her fingers harder, "everyone needs someone they allow themselves to look weak with. I know you don't want me to be that person, but you can't do this alone. I know you don't regret this, but it has to be horrible for you. I want you to take care of yourself."

Her mother's two closest friends hadn't survived the rebellion, and Mags wondered if those she still had were the kind you cried with. Since Mags had never gotten to know them well, she couldn't help but doubt.

"I promise I'll try. I will. Come here, Preciosa," Angelites said, her voice quivering and her eyes wet as she clung to her daughter. "Whatever we go through, we'll face together, and we'll get through it together."

Mags clung to her just as hard.

Esperanza was waiting for them in her nightdress, snuggled in her mother's big new double-bed. "The three of us fit in, and I'm going to drop," she said, gesturing them over.

It was barely past eight o'clock, but Mags didn't even think to protest.

* * *

_Date: Year 9, September. Thirteen days after Mags' victory._

Mags woke up at dawn. Her mother and Esperanza were still sleeping soundly. She tip-toed out of bed, finding the room suddenly oppressive. She wasn't surprised by her irrational hate of closed spaces anymore and simply hoped it would fade. She left a note on the table, even if she would just be sitting outside in the grass.

Mags didn't know how long she stayed there, her knees tucked under her chin at the edge of the windswept cliff on which stared down at the town below.

The market had not begun when she heard rustling behind her. "I figured you'd be awake," a familiar baritone softly said.

Marlin sat down next to her, dark bags to rival hers under his eyes. "Did Esperanza or Glynn tell you about yesterday?"

Mags shook her head, inviting Marlin to come closer and letting her head rest on his shoulder. She was happy to learn he'd come as soon as he'd heard the explosion.

"Does it have something to do with Dee not being here?" She said, guilt rising inside her at the thought of the fiery brunette. Dylana had every reason to feel betrayed.

The sandy-haired boy looked down. He chuckled once. "I think even Yarrow will get his head ripped off if he defends Douglas, but she's irrationally crazy about him and he's bad for her. I almost wish he'd hurt her, because that she'd be smart enough to stay away from. He tells her what she wants to hear. He's clever, but the wrong kind of clever. I'm not sure what to do. She's still listening to me, but it's not me she dreams of kissing."

Mags sighed grimly. Yarrow had been there for Dee when her friend had needed someone, and there was no changing that, no matter her own feelings. She could trust Marlin to keep Dee safe and smart and felt more resigned than afraid. Dylana wasn't simply a friend, she was, she _had been_, her _best_ friend, and Dylana was loyal, even furious, she'd be loyal. It was more a matter of Dylana not falling into a trap.

"I think Dee and I will never be as close as before, but she'll snap out of it before betraying me. Keep her paranoid so she doesn't get in too deep. Tell her I said that and if she gets Yarrow to think, all the better," she said, hugging her knees against her chest.

"I'm sorry it happened like that. You and Dee…," Marlin squared his shoulders and gestured towards the house. "Esperanza seemed good last night. How is she?"

Mags chuckled. "Better than me or Mama. I'm amazed." Her voice hardened. "Can I have their names, Marlin?"

She suspected some, she hadn't been completely blind to what happened in her town. Yarrow meant Brooke and Dover were close by, and there were doubtless others. Berle, Galon and Mareen had made their opinions clear long before they'd left school. Berle still bore the marks, thin scars etched in his forearms, the brand of insolence, earned for throwing boiling oil at nine on a passing peacekeeper. He'd been lucky to miss. Mags had hoped they would have grown up, or that they wouldn't matter so much. She refused to underestimate them again.

Marlin stiffened as he understood her question. "If you start watching every teenager being immature about their grudge against the Capitol…"

That would be ridiculous, but she wanted to know what kind of people lived in her town. Speeches were all good but hardly sufficient. "You don't trust me to be reasonable?" She said, impatience creeping into her tone.

"Hours after Esperanza was kidnapped? No," Marlin said, staring at her squarely. "I'll get a list for you by the end of the week, I promise. You've got other things to worry about right now."

Like the peacekeepers who had been watching her... And Achlys, who would doubtless use this to make a statement, not to mention the funeral Mags would have to attend that afternoon. And Kyle. Mags shut her eyes and held back a groan. She'd forgotten that Kyle was still in custody. She had no idea what she wanted to do with him. Mags suddenly wondered why she had gotten out of her comfortable bed.

* * *

Few places in town were ever perfectly dry, but Mags had not been prepared for the stifling stench of warm mold invading her nose and mouth when she set foot in the small Justice Building's holding cells. The walls were cracked and glittered with humid black and green growth, and Mags wondered if cells so dreary were inevitable in small towns with few funds or if it had been built specifically to strip the accused of any dignity.

Kyle was sitting behind rusty bars in on a thin mattress of dubious cleanliness. A foot-sized hole linked one of the corners of the tiny room to, if the smell was any indication, the sewers. Mags' eyes stopped briefly on this mockery of a privy and decided she should at least try to persuade Achlys to humanize the cells and reduce the penalties for vandalism. If people grew to feel protected by the law instead of persecuted by peacekeepers, they would not shield troublemakers anymore.

"What can I do?" Kyle said when she finally turned her eyes on him, his voice cracked from lack of water.

His brown hair was matted and dirty, covered with the same sand that stuck to his bare chest and which proved he'd been thrown to the ground at least once. The poor light could be concealing bruises, but he seemed otherwise unhurt. The peacekeepers had kept their word and Mags was paradoxically disappointed. A part of her wanted them to act like villains, so she could find her people excuses.

"Maybe if you offer to do public work, they'll let you off after five hundred hours, if I put a word in," Mags said, her eyes on the rivulets of condensed water soaking through the chipped walls.

Seven weeks of backbreaking unpaid work would be a very heavy blow if he had a family to support, but even if the peacekeepers didn't seem hostile to her, she couldn't hope for any less. The only alternative would be a flogging, but twenty-five lashes could leave Kyle crippled.

"You think the world would be better if I'd never been born, right?" Kyle said, his hollow voice echoing glumly in the narrow space.

Mags lifted her eyes back to his face. She shrugged minutely, weary. What could she answer to that? Either he was a monster who'd possibly saved Esperanza because he'd realized it was the only way he'd escape being avoxed, or he was immature beyond compare. Consequences were something you thought about before, not after, and it seemed to Mags that Kyle didn't even know what he and his friends would have done with the ransom money.

"In the end, you did the right thing," she granted in bland tones. Esperanza was alive because of his quick reflexes, even if he had helped kidnap her in the first place. Mags didn't know what to think. Even if he had the best of intentions now, she couldn't afford to trust him.

"I mean what can I do to fix this? To stop screwing up and do something that has meaning? I don't want to be the squid-head who almost killed a kid for the rest of my life." A pleading light entered his green eyes. "I want to make it up, somehow. I know people, I can talk to them, or I can help you build your academy. Even I have the brains to move heavy stuff around," he said with a forced small smile. Kyle put his face in his hands and rubbed his reddened eyes. "I don't know... You're better at this than I'll ever be. What do you want me to do, Mags?"

Mags straightened, now eyeing the boy with greater respect. Could he be sincere? He wasn't clever, but anyone hardworking and devoted would be an asset. If he truly wanted to turn his life around...

"Do you know how Douglas obtained the explosives?" She said. "I can't see President Achlys overlooking that, and it will get ugly if we don't get her pacified quickly."

Kyle looked like he wanted to go lie down in the warm sand and die. "I know a guy who knows a guy who has a girl who gets things. Never knew weapons - except for knives and such- made the list before Douglas did this, and he's the one who talked to them. I got a recipe for homemade explosive, with alcohol and stuff, a few years ago, and knowledge goes around, but honest dynamite? I don't know how he did it."

"So either you talk, and the whole black market is shot down, or you don't, and the responsibility dies with Douglas," Mags finished bitterly.

Unfortunately, she wasn't surprised.

Kyle clenched his jaw so hard Mags thought she saw a tear escape his eyes. "I guess I never really knew Doug. We grew up together, we -" The young man let out a furious hiss and clamped his mouth shut again.

Mags knew his pride would not have him say more about Douglas. He could be acting, but she couldn't imagine someone observant enough to be a great liar to have been so stupid in the first place. She decided to focus on what Kyle could do now.

"What about talking sense into the others who didn't like me saying that breaking the barracks' windows was pointless and bad for the district?"

Kyle nodded, his shoulders hunched and tight from stress. "That I can do, but I'll need to argue properly, so I'm going to need to talk to you first, to really get why we're not being screwed over by the Capitol with this."

Mags found her respect for Kyle rise further at his admission. He knew his beliefs were wrong and he wanted to truly listen to her this time. She flashed him a smile, deciding to give him a chance.

"You know where to find me, Kyle. I'll talk to Peacekeeper Falx."

"You ever talked to him before?" Kyle said as she turned to leave.

A slight blush colored Mags' cheek. "He's the only peacekeeper I know by name," she admitted. "I'll have to change that," she muttered to herself.

Lieutenant Falx was the highest ranking officer in the town, he'd been there since the end of the rebellion, but Mags needed to learn to know at the very least the five in charge of her safety. She'd always stayed very clear of peacekeepers, _too_ clear for what she had to do now.

Kyle looked surprised. "Oh." He chuckled. "With peacekeeper names I can help, I've been hiding from them half my life. Old Falx is long winded and can't stand it if you don't bow your head, but you do that and you're fine. He's not violent like some others." He suddenly dropped his gaze. "If you don't want me at your place, and I'd get that, I can meet with you anywhere."

Mags tensed when his calloused hand shot between the bars and grasped her wrist. His hold was gentle enough she didn't pull back.

"I mean it. I want to help. I have to," Kyle said, his green-eyes more intense than Mags would have thought possible.

Her breath caught in her throat and she just nodded. Her heart was still hammering in her chest when she walked out of the prison.

* * *

Rio hadn't survived the night. He was wrapped in a clean cloth on the table of the underground cold room, only his hands, calloused from hard work were visible.

The whole crew of the Compass was there, the twelve men and five women, leathery tanned skins and taut muscles bearing the inked testimony of a life at sea.

"When someone joins a ship, they leave everything behind," the fist mate, Ervin, said, his eyes lowered in respect. "The crew becomes your family. We lost a son today. "

"I'm sorry it came to this," Mags whispered.

The atmosphere was suffocating, thick with muted anger and keen sorrow. She was glad for Marlin's solid presence at her side.

"What a waste. He was a good lad." Ervin threw a resigned glance at Mags. "Got taken in by the wrong crowd. They were older, you know how easy kids are to awe at that age. They'll look up to anyone tough."

Mags refused to encourage such commiserations. People had to start acting and taking responsibility.

"You knew he hung out with such people," she said, keeping her voice low only because one did not shout in the morgue. "You decided it was a phase, that he'd grow up. You _all_ decided that making him stay away from Douglas Garron wasn't necessary. My sister nearly got killed and he paid for it with his life. Are all experiences worth having? Next time, don't."

No one liked to be accused, least of all of murder of someone they were fond of. Mags fought against the urge to squirm as the sailors' expression darkened, in anguish or in fury.

"It's our fault?" A burly younger sailor with a shaved head said, his voice trembling with rage as he took a step towards Mags.

"Who cares?" Mags said, suddenly exhausted. _What a stupid way to die, Rio_. How many people would mourn him? Now there was no going back. "He's dead. Every one who knew could have stopped him. That's all that matters. That's all that will ever matter when it comes to people blowing things up in Four."

Would she have to deal with Rio's other friends, his siblings and parents? Would people attack them every time they set foot in town and Esperanza have to be pulled out of school? Mags couldn't let it happen. She'd never let fear run her life and would not start now.

"Everyone's angry at the way things are, it's not an excuse," Marlin said, taking advantage of his stout build to move Mags closer to the door and making sure she wasn't surrounded anymore. "You can't kidnap a twelve year old under the guise of hating the Capitol. What kind of person does that make you?"

"It makes you a kid who believed in a future," a wiry man in the back mumbled, his arms firmly crossed against his torso.

"You don't have to be an idiot to be able to believe in a future," Mags ground out, fighting the rising urge to punch the speaker. Hadn't they listened to a word she'd said in the past days? "Things won't change if no one tries. I'd like to see people try, by focusing their anger and controlling their children. We're not going to obtain anything without effort."

At least they didn't seem angry at her personally, maybe this time she'd gotten her point across, but the cost in blood had been too high.

* * *

Half the town had come to the Pier of Spirits. There were no boats on that beach, for this was where the waters were the most dangerous, dragging everything into the deep seas. The deep seas was where the dead of District Four belonged.

Douglas' and Rio's bodies rested on two thin boats, wrapped tightly in white cloth, with weights tied around the ankles and necks. The funeral boats were woven like baskets, very slowly letting the water in, and would sink once the currents had taken them far from the coast.

There were no speeches or ostentatious signs of mourning, those would come later, when the dead had been put to rest. Clad in a simple dark blue ceremonial dress, Marid Crow cut the ropes holding the boats anchored like she had done a thousand times in the last three decades. She was the Navigator, the guide of the departed, and the guardian of one of the very few traditions that had not been wiped out by the Capitol. Her deep voice rose into a chant, soon taken up by the assembled crowd. It was slow and solemn, rising over the waves and bird calls, erasing everything but the sheer presence of three thousand men and women united in the face of death. It was a chant of mourning and farewell, of hope in the afterlife and courage for the bereaved.

The ritual silence as the boats sped towards the horizon was interrupted by the motor of a hovercraft.

As the solemn atmosphere shattered, Mags felt her stomach lurch as people scrambled away from the landing carrier. Outraged murmurs rippled through the crowd at the interruption. Had peacekeepers no decency?

Those murmurs instantly stopped when the hovercraft's door revealed the figure protected by a dozen armored peacekeepers.

Evadne Achlys was here in person and she looked furious. Mags didn't remember a single time the President had come to Four, even in Lycorias, the main city.

"I want every last form of explosives turned in or I'll have a thousand men turn every house inside out to get them," Achlys said, her voice more cutting than a sharp blade, "I'm sure I'll find many interesting things I'd have never thought to ask for. It is high time you criminals stop believing that you can break the law unpunished."

The dire order had the effect of a thunder shock. The threat of a peacekeeper inquisition made more than one grown man whimper. There would be nothing left of Creneis Town after such an search. The Capitol did not joke when it came to weapons.

The President's short mocking laugh rang across the silent beach. "You had dynamite and triggers, and you used it to kill one of your own sailors in the hope of murdering a twelve year old child," Achlys said, her voice dripping scorn. "Your sense of strategy is outstanding."

A scream of unrestrained rage pierced through the chilly silence. A scream Mags had hoped never to hear again. Brandishing a piece of dried wood like a spear, Mrs. Garron pushed through the crowd and barreled towards Achlys. The desperate Hurley tried to stop her but was no match for his bulkier crazed wife.

Mags had the presence of mind to shield Esperanza's eyes but failed to avert her own.

One of the bodyguards wordlessly shot the woman before she got within twenty feet of the President. She convulsed on the sand, her screams cut short as blood fountained from her throat.

Hysterical screams, mainly of children, rose from the horrified gathering.

Mags tightened her hold on her sister until she felt the shorter girl shake her head in protest.

"Avox the husband and the girl," Achlys ordered in cold tones.

"They were trying to stop her," Mags hastily called out, ignoring the horrified inner voice ordering her to keep quiet. "They don't support Douglas' actions." _Avox_. She couldn't let Achlys turn the situation into an even greater disaster. The cycle of violence had to be broken.

The white-haired President paused, throwing Mags a circumspect look. Mags knew she would be summoned to the Capitol soon, and that she'd better have excellent arguments. Achlys then lifted her hands, as if bored by everything. The peacekeepers paused.

"You won't get a second warning. Get me the explosives, or the names of those who hoard them. You have ten days. Take one long look at your families, at your young children, think of who would use explosives and for what, and think _hard_ on whether protecting those who would hoard them is worth it."

Achlys spun on her heels without another word. Two of her men unceremoniously put Mrs. Garron in a bag and dragged her into the roaring hovercraft.

Douglas' sister fell to her knees at the edge of the crowd as the paralyzing fear suddenly left her. Fat tears spilled soundlessly from her eyes as she watched her mother's body taken away.

There would be no burial, no ceremony to offer closure. Mags fought back tears. The Capitol did nothing by chance, they had no respect.

Slowly, the shock melted away and new whispers rose in the crowd. Angry words flitted over to Mags. "It's all her fault."

Whatever anger the unknown speaker had, Mags matched and doubled. She'd contradicted Achlys in public, risking her own life, for the sake of people who'd only caused her grief. How dare they not at least keep their petty resentment to themselves! She wasn't even asking for bloody gratitude.

A voice cut over the rising whispers. "Why didn't any of you speak up?" Glynn said, pointing at a group of mutinous teenagers and young adults standing back in their black mourning clothes. "Why is Mags the only one to defend the family of the guy who tried to kill her sister and who directly killed Rio? You really think the President is too nice to harm Mags if she finds her insolent? Or are you cowards just there when it comes to destroying stuff?"

The half-dozen accused stiffened and stepped forward, ready to insult the auburn-haired girl, but a louder murmur covered their voices, the angry mutter of a thousand people who were now turned towards the group. Most didn't look sympathetic, far from it. Mags felt a surge of grim relief, aware this was the opinion of the majority of her town. They weren't fools, they condemned Douglas, they condemned senseless destruction.

"I'm sure they don't mean Mags any harm, Treasure. We all mourn the good in every person who passes away, even if their faults are great," Cara Corduroy said with a sad smile. Her musical voice carried over the din, as if she'd addressed large crowds all her life.

The statement had the effect of an ultimatum and now every look was on the group of self-proclaimed rebels. Mags knew that if they failed to speak, they would be branded as immature children sulking because the most brazen of their friends had thrown away his life.

Caught in the open and unprepared, Douglas' supporters stayed silent. Their credibility, cracked by Glynn's accusations, had shattered at her mother's words.

Mags could only now truly appreciate the weight the words of one of the most influential citizen in Four had on the crowd. Cara was a doctor in all but name, the healer of souls, mender of relationships. She had matched up half the town and counseled the other. No wonder Glynn had never worried about how people saw her, her mother's name made her untouchable. The look of pride on Mr. Corduroy's face as he put his arms around his women made Mags' lips twitch.

"Should I do something?" Marlin said, making her start. She hadn't seen him get close. From the look on his face, he suspected any words of support to his friend could make a difference, but he didn't know where to start.

"Just publicly stand by me," she whispered back.

If Dylana had truly a crush on Yarrow Fisher, she wouldn't step forward, but Mags was already glad the brunette had been standing as far as she could from Douglas's former group and with her family rather than with any new _friends_ she had made_. _She felt a twinge of sadness as she realized how low her expectations had become. Yet had she wanted better, she should have trusted Dylana before the Games. Solid friendships were not built on lies, _months_ of lies. Marlin was exceptionally forgiving.

Marlin nodded and forced the wariness out of his expression before waving his family over. His brothers and parents hesitated but soon closed the distance between them.

"Strength in packs," Marlin muttered in way of explanation.

His brothers both cracked a smile and Mortimer winked at Mags. He was barely a year older than Marlin and they could have been twins, with the same broad short frames, sandy curls and thick eyebrows. Mags suspected Mortimer knew everything she had ever told Marlin and smiled back.

She turned around as someone else joined their group.

"Angelites, may I walk home with you?"

"Of course, Cara," Angelites said with a genuine smile of surprise.

The auburn-haired woman smiled charmingly and slipped her arm into Angelites'.

"You recruited your Mom?" Mags said in wonder, as a smug-looking Glynn reached her side.

"And my Pa," Glynn said pointedly. "I'm living with them still, they get a say in who I hang out with. Luckily, they're the less self-centered part of my family. You'll note my dearest spoiled half-sisters haven't even come, using as always my nephews as pretexts, and Jett is off chatting up the mayor's daughter, _again_." Glynn's fond smirk broadened into a self-deprecating grin. "How stupid would I be not to ask my mother to help, Mags? This matters and she has a thousand times the influence I have."

Mags smiled in return, acknowledging her point. Receiving support had never felt so marvelous.

"Did you plan this speaking out thing?" Marlin asked, looking nervous at all the attention they were receiving. Hundreds of pairs of eyes were drilling into them, dissecting them as they passed.

"It was your idea, Marlin," Glynn said, much more relaxed than he was, "Ma just polished it."

Mags turned to her friend, impressed.

The sandy-haired boy furrowed his thick brow. "Mine?"

Glynn chuckled. "This morning, when Mags went to see Kyle. You said that only those who don't like Mags are heard because they're the loudest, so people end up thinking she's much more unpopular than she actually is."

A small smirk drew itself on Marlin's face. He elbowed Mortimer. "Dude, this was _my _idea. I'm epic."

Mags laughed, feeling the tension of last two days finally evaporate.

* * *

After a slight pause, Mags knocked on the wooden door.

A sixteen year old with a mop of ash-blonde hair and laughing hazel eyes soon opened.

"Mags! I, -" Caspian Medes laughed. "Nah, I should have figured you'd turn up. Come in, my Pa's still selling at the market," he said, moving out of the way. "What's up?"

Mags couldn't believe they'd all overlooked the skinny red-faced boy at school. He'd had friends of course, and been generally liked, but he'd been part of the landscape. Some other boys had had a glow, something that had made them popular and surrounded by eager followers and admirers, and most of those were now quite average, their aura gone. Caspian was anything but average, he'd shown the town that things could still improve. Having a working lighthouse had changed everyone's lives. Mags had hesitated at first whether to approach either him or Maris first, but Maris was married and had a dozen orphans to take care of, so Caspian was the logical choice.

"I don't know how things work in Four. I'm realizing I have lots of plans which are based on how I think people are rather than how people truly are. I know most people by face, I know their jobs, but I don't _know_ them, how to get them motivated or to work together. You do."

Mags stopped. She was being very presumptuous. "I mean, first, do you agree with what I'm trying to do?" She said, hating how uncertain she sounded, but she couldn't barge in uninvited in Caspian's home and demand his help without some explanation.

Caspian offered her a glass of water, his smile only broadening. "I think that by the end of the afternoon, I will. Let's talk, the lighthouse was fun, but I'm up for a new challenge," he said, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

Mags stared, slightly stunned. She hadn't expected him to look so..._ young_. It didn't surprise her anymore that no girl had ever managed to ensnare him, he probably didn't even think about dating yet. Then she smiled, inwardly rehearsing the speech her mother had forced her to write the week before to make sure she would know exactly how to explain what she wanted without risking the Capitol's wrath.

* * *

**Please review.**


	36. Surprise

**Author's note: It's once more a long chapter (although less than the last two). I'm terrible at this. This chapter struggled to come together because many of it felt like a huge info dump. It's still an info dump, but hopefully more subtle, you tell me^^. **

**Thank you chaotizitaet for the inspiration behind most cheerful scene in this chapter, to remind us that Mags is barely an adult. **

**Thank you all for your reviews. Thank you "Guest" in particular, since you're apparently new, biglebowski and PinaColadaFox, when you'll reach this chapter.**

* * *

_Date: Year 9, September. Twenty-five days after Mags' victory._

"That'll be all for you, Mags. I'll deliver straight at your home if you're waiting for something important," the postmaster said.

Mags slipped the small bundle of letters in a waterproof folder and smiled in thanks. Hopefully the construction works would start soon. She resisted the urge to tear open the envelopes to check and exited the tiny post-office.

After Rio's and Douglas' burial Mags had written a letter explaining to Achlys why she'd felt it necessary to intervene on behalf of Hurley Garron and his daughter. About how a display of leniency (she hadn't dared to write fairness) would encourage citizen to trust the Capitol enough to turn in the criminals in their midst. Her head had been splitting when she sent it, for it had taken four hours of heated discussion on the most ridiculous details with her mother and Cara Corduroy to reach a satisfactory draft. Achlys wouldn't believe for a second that Mags had written this alone, but Cara and her mother had forcefully argued that sounding like a peasant was never an advantage.

Mags had finally bowed to their greater experience and forced herself to stay seated in the suffocating studio until she had finished the accursed letter. Between Cara's excellent grasp of people and keen eye for anything that could be construed as an insult in harmless seeming sentences and her mother's experience with proper diplomatic phrasings, the result was a stunning display of all-too-polite flowing prose, and_ eight_ pages long. Miraculously, the content had not been lost in the process.

Achlys had answered a few days later, arguing that a weak justice system was worse than no law at all, because it led criminals to believe transgressions were acceptable. She then had agreed that people in Four, uneducated and stupid as they were, needed to be treated like children to draw some good out of them and that she would be indulgent as long as there were results.

At first, Mags had only understood that they'd better stop vandalism in the next few months or Four would see its numbers of peacekeepers doubled, regardless of the explosives situation. Her mother had then spelled out the subtleties in Achlys' polite missive, leaving Mags to feel insulted. Not because she'd missed Achlys' jibe at the intelligence of Four's citizen, but because Achlys didn't even stop to consider they would comply if the system was fairer. _Children._ How arrogant. The President had used an unnecessary amount of flourishes, which was certainly her way of saying _'you can't beat me at the diplomacy game.'_ Angelites had smiled wryly at that, assuring Mags that had the President been offended, she would have made it very clear. Mags wasn't too thrilled at the thought that she was entertaining Achlys, but the victor had been neither threatened nor summoned to the Capitol, and that was a great victory in itself.

Mags slowed her pace as she passed the train station, craning her head to see over the low spiked fence. It was bustling with unusual activity for an early Restday morning. There were two-score peacekeepers in town, with half the squads rotating every three years to avoid corruption, and over half seemed to be there.

The uniformed enforcers were busy guarding, examining and storing away the weapons that had been turned in by the population. The two weeks were almost over and Mags smiled in sheer relief as she realized the first hurdle had been crossed. The explosives were there, few but many more than Mags would have thought. These weren't just the contents of someone's basement. Marlin had told her that the sailors had headed out in force one night and come back bruised but with a crate and full bags. They'd evidently known who'd sold dynamite to Douglas, and they'd obtained the stash. They'd given no names to the peacekeepers, but Mags now suspected they would, if the smugglers decided to retaliate in any way.

She squared her shoulder, feeling like a salmon at the base of a waterfall preparing itself for the big climb. This was just the beginning. Town Creneis housed little more then ten percent of Four's total population. Mags didn't want to move from her birth town, but she knew she would have to travel as soon as the situation here was calmer, to get the whole district to work together, from the industrial Lycorias to the smallest fishing villages.

Achlys' trip to Creneis hadn't been kept secret. Whatever advanced cameras the hovercraft or the bodyguards had carried had enabled district wide, maybe Panem wide, broadcast during obligatory viewing hour - also called the evening news-, and anyone who'd missed the first had had the chance to see a second - and a twentieth - transmission, with spots on peacekeepers vividly illustrating the consequences of protecting criminals added in. Mags wondered if Achlys had also sent ultimatums to Lycorias and the other two main towns, Galene and Orithyia, or if Creneis was truly a thorn in the Capitol's foot.

_Why would her town be special?_ The victor tried to think strategically.

There was nothing but fishing villages in a radius of a hundred miles of Creneis. Mostly smaller villages, housing only a couple hundred people and often difficult to access. The ancient railways which stretched across Panem needed no maintenance, or it would have been impossible for such a small population to control a territory so large, but the technology to build new ones had been lost. The trains ran on coal, but rumor was that an energy source that didn't foul the air and made nuclear seem obsolete had existed before the Cataclysm. The fishermen from the villages came to Creneis twice a week to sell their catch, either on the market or to the food processing factory a little further downstream. The large factory sent full trains to the Capitol thrice a week in special refrigerators for conservation, and was the main source of jobs for those who lacked the fitness to work at sea.

Mags remembered Sylvan's words about peacekeepers. Districts One and Two provided nine tenths of the peacekeeping forces. District One was the size of Four, with roughly fifty thousand inhabitants, and Two had had triple that number before the rebellion. It was the second most populated District in Panem, but it had sustained very heavy losses during the war. The fortress city housed as many Capitolites as One and Two combined, and Mags didn't doubt they had a small army of their own, but the rest of Panem was a million citizens strong, with half living in District Eleven.

A small smile danced on Mags' face as she juggled with the numbers.

No wonder the Capitol tried to ban villages and organize districts in a cluster of towns and small cities. They couldn't afford to spare twelve peacekeepers for every village, and sending less than ten was dangerous. Unfortunately, Four's economy was dependent on the villages. The fishing boats were old and their operating range was small. Only so many boats could fish in the same place and hope to bring back full nets. The farms had to be close to the factories, or the sea fruit would rot, so it left little space for additional docks in the main towns.

Mags knew she had to talk with the other victors. She needed more facts and these things were not taught in school. Eight could have its citizen all work in the same large city, but Nine, Ten and Eleven? Even if cattle and fowl could be fattened in tiny cages, many herds also grazed on the plains, and their caretakers had to live somewhere. Fife had talked of the endless grain fields and heavily industrialized towns, with immense grain processing factories employing over half the population. She'd said the tractors were all stored in town, so Mags guessed even those who worked the fields didn't live far from the main settlements.

Was Four really an exception? Was this why her district was harder to control?

She frowned as she continued to walk towards the barracks. If Four built better fishing ships, that could sail farther, the villages would become obsolete and everyone could set sail from the main towns. Without villages, without hideouts, the black markets would be choked and rebellion would become impossible. Was this why Achlys supported the modernization of the ships?

Mags' head began to pound. She would have to build new ships, but not too many, not too modern, and without angering the Capitol. Every day she realized reality was much more complex than what she had once thought. She couldn't afford not to think about these things, and yet she felt so inadequate compared to the magnitude of the task.

"Miss Mags," a chiming voice called.

Mags turned around, wincing at the stupid title, but Marquise seemed to find it too amusing to forego.

"Spare us a minute, will you," the blonde peacekeeper said, gesturing towards the barracks. "We're set to avoid kidnapping number two and we need to put some order in your building plans. We're not used to explaining our job to civilians, so if you don't get the long words we use, it's quite fine. Just nod and approve. It'll always be something clever and soldierly," she said, her small smile belying her serious tone.

"Isn't makeup forbidden in your line of work?" Mags said with raised eyebrows. Marquise reminded her of the fashion magazines she'd glimpsed in the Capitol's hospital, the one for teen girls specifically, in which the models weren't altered yet.

Mags had gotten to know the woman from One well enough in the last weeks to see that Marquise had not become a peacekeeper by choice and cared little for discipline. She was the most outgoing of the patrol assigned to Mags by far and seemed happy to talk to someone about anything other than her job. Mags sometimes felt treated like an acquaintance Marquise could gossip with. Under the guise of 'protection', Marquise had informed her that her mother's former employer had a sixteen year-old mistress he gave lavish gifts to (_that girl could be a nasty rebel, Mags, she could be trying to get closer to your mother, and if so, the man is funding rebellious undertakings, and must be brought to justice_), or that a peacekeeper called Dicey had fake buttocks because his had gotten bitten off by a mutt who'd escaped during shooting practice (_We'll not be guarding you forever, Miss Mags, you know the rules of turnover, you might get stuck with him, it's only fair I warn you, he's a real slow runner_). Mags was torn between amusement, dismay and the reminder of why she'd rolled her eyes so much during her last year of school.

Marquise's full red lips had twisted into a predatory smirk. "It is a weapon of choice against foolish male troublemakers. They fail to take you seriously and I get to look hot."

Mags smiled, feeling a pang as the young woman's airs reminded her of a shallow Constantine. "As long as the rest of the patrol takes you seriously..."

"You're important Mags, not just anyone gets assigned to you," Marquise said with a superior wave of her hand as she straightened with unconcealed pride. "Only jealous people believe you can't be hot _and_ competent. They just can't deal with being ugly." Marquise winked, looking suddenly much less arrogant. "Those worthy to be the guard of the great victor all have the intelligence to recognize my outstanding qualities," she finished with a grin.

"If the _great victor_ could stop indulging Marquise's overblown ego and join us," a male voice cut in from the inside.

Patrol Leader Ajax impatiently gestured for her to sit. The tall man had shown to be stubborn, brisk and to expect the worst of everyone. Mags tried to have her mother interact with him whenever possible, for ever since the kidnapping, he'd eyed Angelites with a respect that surpassed the cool courtesy he reserved to Mags. The girl had guessed that Ajax had less trouble taking an adult woman seriously than a seventeen year old, even if Mags tried her hardest to be professional. The patrol leader had not hidden his distaste at the thought of letting Mags interfere with the way he guarded her, but he had listened to her arguments and when his two colleagues from District Two had acknowledged the wisdom to Mags' demands, he had relented.

Indra and Alaric were already seated on the round reunion table. They reminded her of Styx, strong, proud and professional. They were the most cool-headed and reasonable, as long as Mags was careful not to hint at any kind of treachery. These people would die for the Capitol and would kill her in a blink if Achlys gave the order, but for now, they were helpful enough.

The short Legend, who was bulky enough to lift the table, sat further away. He never talked much during meetings, but his blue eyes didn't miss anything.

Mags sat down, her eyes on the papers that had been laid before her. If the last weeks had taught her anything, it was that peacekeepers liked things to be done well and efficiently, even the cruelest among them.

"When the material for the houses will come?" Ajax begun, his traits stern. "If you want people to build their own homes, fine, but they'll be using dangerous tools, and we need those locked up at night and monitored during the day. Lieutenant Falx will want some warning to keep things clean. We might need reinforcements, and we'll sure need them if you build your academy at the same time."

"The academy will be built later, when the people will have learned how to build houses that last," Mags said.

She blushed when Marquise muttered 'clever' with an appraising expression. She didn't mean to sound like it was okay for people's houses to be rotten.

"The shipwrights have the most experience in woodwork, so we'll need them," Mags said, "and with your permission I'll give them one week warning before the works start."

"You won't get more builders from Seven? The two that have been repairing houses for a year will soon return home. They seemed to think a new group would be sent over to finish the work. The foundations for six houses have been rotting for the last year." Alaric paused and cracked a smile. "If you pay me extra, my father was in masonry, I know a fair bit."

Ajax threw him a warning glare. "Your hobbies are your own but don't slack on the job."

"I'm interested, we'll talk about it, Sir," Mags promised Alaric, refraining the urge to point out that all of Creneis' spare budget went into rebuilding and that it was the Capitol that set impossibly high prices. They had been waiting for a score of workers from Seven for three years. "I should have the information on the wood arrivals in here," Mags said, taking the letters out. She hoped they had agreed to send out tools and basic plans too, even if she was sure house-building plans were easy to obtain on the black market.

"Why aren't you building your academy in Lycorias? More people, more specialists..." Marquise said, eyeing her quizzically, "not that Creneis isn't cosy, but it's small and in the middle of nowhere."

"I want to be able to select the teachers, to make people come, and to control the constructions. It might take more time here, but it'll be more solid and there will be less interference or power plays," Mags replied. It was her mother's words, from a discussion they'd had when Mags had first talked of volunteering. The core reason was that being a victor was hard enough without being a stranger.

* * *

Mags was running. She was shamefully late.

She'd promised to have lunch with her mother and sister, Esperanza was at school every other day of the week, but the discussion with the peacekeepers had taken up her whole morning. She'd then had to run to the Mayor's to apologize for not having met with him like she had planned to, but had to admit she'd gotten much more work done with the peacekeepers. Ajax had the power to organize security, Mayor Bream had the power to talk to people and beg the Capitol for money. She'd given him the written report of what they'd decided with the peacekeepers, and Bream's eyes had almost popped out of his face when he had realized all of Mags' promises about rebuilding had a real chance of being kept.

Mags frowned when she saw Marlin, Mortimer and Maxwell sitting near the cliff's edge, halfway up the private path to her house. Why was Marlin waiting for her with his brothers?

Mortimer bolted to his feet as soon as he noticed her. "We're hungry," he complained, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards the house.

"Did word spread out that the fish was better at my place or something?" Mags asked eyeing the three in mild confusion.

"Why do you still buy food at the market? You could get so much better stuff now," Mortimer said, looking personally offended by Mags' decision not to spend on outlandish food, "and invites us for dinner."

"Let her go, Mort," Marlin said, shoving his brother away from Mags. He then grinned. "You keep yourself so busy you forget the important things," he said, shaking his head.

"What, buying honey and cherries?" Mags replied, with a wry smile.

What were they here for? Not that she minded. She'd turned up unannounced at Marlin's place too many times to count.

"For one," Mortimer said, the picture of earnestness. His stomach grumbled loudly on cue.

"Did you warn Mama? If you want cooked food -" Mags broke off when she saw the three boys' huge grins.

"I'll go warn Angelites now," Marlin's eldest brother said.

Mags frowned as Maxwell broke into a run, a grin still firmly in place. The house was in sight, a twenty seconds warning was pointless.

Something clicked in her brain when a strange yet familiar smell reached her nostrils. Meat. Grilled meat. She'd only ever eaten it in the Capitol.

_Important things._

"You didn't," she said, disbelief lacing her voice.

"It wasn't my idea, unfortunately," Marlin said, his smile turning apologetic. "Happy birthday, Mags, Come on in."

"Preparing all that food, without touching, was inhuman," Mortimer said, suffering etched on his youthful face, "and you even managed to be two hours late."

Mags snorted at his theatrics. "Yes, I'm evil," she deadpanned.

A birthday party. What was she, five? What a waste of money. Still, she couldn't stop a smile from slowly reaching her ears. It was so sweet of them.

"I know, I've been trying to warn Marlin for years now," Mortimer grumbled, his brown eyes sparkling with mirth.

The front door was open, and the smell of meat mixed with other, sweeter scents. Mags rushed to the terrace only to see fifteen people waiting for her around a loaded table that had nothing to envy to the Capitol's feasts. It wasn't honey and cherries, but whole rabbits, platters full of cheese, fresh food she lacked the vocabulary to describe, and enough grapes to hide a child in. Mags couldn't believe her eyes.

"His idea," Glynn said, pointing at Kyle, "he felt guilty and hopes you'll eat it up."

Caspian and Marlin chuckled, but Mags could only stare at the green eyed boy. His blush made his dark freckles stand out, and Mags suddenly found it the cutest thing she had ever seen. _He'd organized this? _He had come of his own volition to talk to her mother after everything that had happened? He was braver than she had suspected.

"That's a terrible pun," a girl called out playfully.

Mags tore her gaze away from Kyle and her smile brightened when she saw Dylana sitting between Esperanza and Jett, Glynn's little brother. Esperanza's three best friends were right next to them and were looking at the food with the same air of anticipation as Mortimer, who had thrown a confused glance at Dylana.

"'Eat it up'. _Food_, Mortimer," Angelites said with an indulgent expression, making her way towards her daughter,"you of all people should have gotten it."

"You're all..." Mags' words failed her and a flush crept up her cheeks.

Glynn's and Marlin's parents were there, obviously having come to give a hand. She was especially thrilled to see Dylana's grandfather standing next to Caspian, amazed the white-haired man had had the energy to climb all the way to the house. He gave her a warm smile, and Mags knew he was here to thank her.

She shut her gaping mouth and forced a smile, her voice was thick with emotion. "Eat, I'll talk later."

A loud cheer rang among the assembled people.

"Mama, have I been that oblivious to what you've been up to?" The young woman said, overwhelmed.

"I don't have a job anymore, it's much easier to be sneaky," Angelites replied, her smile brighter than any Mags had seen since the kidnapping. "Everyone needed a celebration. Your eighteenth birthday is perfect. Kyle was vehement. He said we shouldn't let you believe that what you're doing is anything less than exceptional, and that exceptional should be rewarded." Angelites' voice dropped to a knowing whisper. "I think you have a chance with him, but wait a little to make sure he's sincere."

Mags couldn't remember the last time she had blushed so much.

"I should thank him," she whispered, ignoring her mother's badly concealed smirk.

Kyle was staring at her as she moved around the table to reach his side. Nervousness was written all over his face.

"I can't believe you, Kyle," Mags said, her head shaking slightly of its own accord.

"Saying sorry and then waiting for you to give me stuff to do felt lame, especially since you'd have waited until my sentence was over. I hope you like it," he said, his lips twitching into a shy smile.

She knew Kyle had been scrubbing shells off ships' hulls and repainting the barracks ever since he'd been let out of his cell. His skin was peeling from long sun exposure and his clean clothes were discolored and frayed, and yet he stood tall and dignified, awaiting a word of approval.

"It's... amazing."

Kyle chuckled, relief washing over his features. Mags hadn't remembered him being so handsome.

"Glynn told me you needed to be drugged, tied up and thrown into a cell to actually allow yourself to relax," he said, his green eyes glinting.

Mags bristled, suddenly stung at the thought of Kyle making fun of her. "Glynn needs to learn to shut up," Mags snapped, with more bite than she knew was fair.

She gasped as a foreign hand tickled her side and shot Glynn a mock-glare when the girl just smirked at her.

"I'm leaving with the Swamp Fox tomorrow at dawn, you'll be free of me until Spring," Glynn said, before taking a bite of white cheese, "I suggest you two start eating. There will be left overs, but not of that goat cheese, and it's too good to miss."

Mags froze when she realized the gentle hand on her shoulder was Kyle's. "After the birthday girl," he said, leading her towards the buffet with a roguish smile.

* * *

The sun was setting, and many could not afford to stay longer. The Corduroys and Marlin's parents had left early and Dylana had just taken her grandfather home. Mags' smile faded as she thought of Dylana. The girl had spent the afternoon amusing Esperanza and her friends with all kinds of stories, and had truly seemed to enjoy herself, but Mags hadn't exchanged more than a few words with her. Nevertheless, she had to admit she hadn't had tried so hard to. Talking with Kyle, Caspian, Marlin and Glynn about people and events had been more fun than she'd had in months.

Today, she had really felt eighteen years old.

"Do you need help to pack and clean up?" Caspian asked, swaying a little from the amount they had eaten.

Mags was just as bloated. The fruit cake in the end had been sinfully good. A part of her felt bad for indulging when so many were starving, but not enjoying the feast would not have done any good. Her cheeks still ached for having smiled so much.

"Take whatever you want home and return the dishes once you're done," Angelites said, "but don't worry about the rest. I'll wash everything once you're all gone."

Only Esperanza, Kyle and Marlin remained when Indra walked into their living room holding two identical small children by their shirts.

Mags frowned.

"They're my cousins," Kyle hastily said, a shadow crossing his face, "I told them to come help at sunset."

"Open house, wealthy inhabitants, _thieves,_" the peacekeeper said curtly. Her eyes narrowed when Kyle bristled. "Mags' security is our job, Kyle Sumach, and you haven't given us _any_ reason to trust you." Indra's eyebrows flew upwards when she saw the feast before her. "Happy birthday?" she guessed.

Mags nodded with a helpless grin. "They're fine, Indra," she said, gesturing the twins over, "do you want a bag for you and the others? We have too much."

The peacekeeper froze and then cracked an embarrassed smile. "It's called corruption, Girl." She then sighed. "May I have a big bag? Legend is a pig."

"Lethe, Corentin, start clearing up too, but don't in the peacekeeper's way," Kyle whispered to the wide-eyed children.

Mags suddenly wondered who the twin's father was. The two boys were both waif-like, with thin symmetrical traits that were uncommon to Four. They had their mother's dark hair, but their skin was milky white and their eyes a light brown. Mags knew that Kyle lived with his aunt Narissa, a portraitist, and a friend of the family, Irvette, who baked pots which Narissa sold on the market. Since they'd come to Creneis at the very end of the rebellion, Mags didn't know what had happened to Kyle's parents. She doubted it could be anything other than grim.

Kyle's tense expression morphed into incredulity as soon as Indra had left."Was this calculated, to have those people on your side, or are you just that nice?" he said, his eyes cold as he stared at the retreating peacekeeper.

Mags frowned, disturbed by the hate in his gaze. "How about I walk you home when we've have all the left overs stored away."

Kyle shut his eyes briefly, but when he turned his eyes back on Mags, his easy smile was soft and genuine. "I'd like that." He turned to Marlin who was chatting with Esperanza, "Lethe and Corentin will handle it, you can go home."

Marlin's lips twitched and his eyes went from Mags to Kyle just slowly enough to make a point. He then walked up to Mags and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Happy birthday, Mags. I'll see you tomorrow. Bye Angelites, thank you for having us all here."

"Thank you, Marlin, for helping with the set up and bringing your good mood," her mother replied brightly.

Mags smiled at her cheeky friend, aware that she was blushing again. She turned to the twins and her eyes widened. The two were eight or nine and yet they had managed to clear half the large table in less than five minutes. Her eyes lingered on their clean but ripped clothes and she vowed to thank them for their help with money for new ones.

* * *

"Do you know Indra, or is this part of the reason you agreed to kidnap my sister when you thought I was leading Four to ruin?" Mags said, unnerved by the unchecked face she had seen in his eyes. She was surprised Indra hadn't taken greater offense.

She was careful not to state explicitly her hate of Achlys, even if it would have made him more comfortable around her. She felt like she could trust Kyle, but she couldn't risk her life and that of her family. A surge of hot fury burned her throat. She hated the Capitol for tainting all her interactions with suspicion.

Kyle stared at her for the longest time, his lips pressed into a thin line. She ached to pull him into a hug, to tell him he could trust her, but she feared the nineteen year old would resent what he would perceive as mothering.

"My mother was from the North-Western border, right next to District Five," Kyle said tightly, "Father was from Five. Their village was small, everyone worked in trade, packing, loading and food conservation, since the railway went through there. I think we also were part of the biggest black market in that part of Panem. My parents loaded batteries on boats to get them to Seven, the whole village helped, land smugglers... every kind of illegal goods and the Capitol was clueless. We had the peacekeepers on our side, even during the war. We thought we had something big and solid going on."

Kyle paused, his eyes darting to her to check for her reaction. Mags hung to his every word, her eyes wide and sad. She already knew how this would end.

"We never found out who betrayed us," he whispered, his face tight in anger, "but the Capitol fleet came. They freed mutts on us, disgusting snakes the size of alligators, and fourscore peacekeepers rounded the survivors up once the beasts were through. With my parents and Aunt Narissa, we'd climbed where the mutts couldn't reach. Narissa was fifteen at the time. Dad tried to fight back, to buy us a chance to escape. The war had been going on for years, nobody had ammo, a crossbow bolt went right through his chest."

Mags found herself squeezing Kyle's upper arm. Widows and widowers, families with a single child, cripples, scarred faces and perpetually sunken eyes, no one could live in Creneis and forget there had been a war, but behind those eyes lurked nightmares people tried hard not to imagine.

"I think the screams were the worst, stripping them of all their dignity." Kyle muttered, almost to himself. His eyes hardened and for an instant and Mags could imagine this man hadn't cared if her sister was killed. A hate so bright didn't leave any place for compassion towards strangers. "Narissa..." Kyle said, shaking in fury, "She was real pretty, so some guy figured since my mother had married a foreigner, she'd want one too."

Mags' jaw clenched. She didn't need, nor want, to hear more. Kyle's cousins were nine and looked foreign, there was nothing more to say. She needed Kyle to snap out of it, or his life would never be his own. "You'll let that single horrible day rule your whole life if you see that man in every peacekeeper you encounter. Don't let the Capitol have that kind of power over you."

Kyle paused, the veins in his jaw bulging with rage as he fought to remain calm. "They just left us there, everyone who looked roughly under sixteen, to wander aimlessly and die. Twelve of us, including kids aged four or five who'd just seen their parents _eaten_. We... Some ran away or stopped eating and just stared and shivered all day long. With Narissa and two others, we managed to find a group of refugees after days of waking South. Irvette was among them. Her and auntie grew close so we followed her here. She'd heard this town was a good place for people who wanted to start anew without being asked too many questions. Narissa was sick and heavy with the twins when we finally got here." Kyle stared at the ground, regaining mastery over his emotions. "It took us three years to get a house, and only because the Lethe and Corentin bumped us up the waiting lists."

He turned to look at Mags, looking highly bothered by her words on power. His voice turned almost pleading.

"The peacekeepers, they're not here to protect us. They're here to remind us we're beaten, not much better than cattle. They're from the districts, like us, but they get away with anything. The Capitol pays them more than most of us we'll ever earn and tells them that they're superior to us. It's all they care about. Those men here, most fought the war. How many girls like my aunt you think they bloodied and left behind? How many kids like my cousins were born? And Lethe and Corentin got lucky Narissa didn't force them out of her. Grandpa was a bastard too, and probably the toughest person in the village, so she kept kids, to prove she could raise them to be better, to be tough and good like Grandpa," Kyle said, a small smile gracing his lips at the memory. His smile fell. "He and Grandma died that day, swallowed whole by those beasts."

"Kyle,-" Mags began softly, afraid to see him drown in the storm of emotions he had unleashed. The war had screwed them up, there was no other word, but the war would never be over, and the districts would forever be broken and beaten, if people didn't let go of the past. She had never forgotten her father. She missed him still and wished he were there to see what she was building, but it was the future they had to devote their energy to, or the Capitol had won.

"I know they're not all the same," he snarled. "I _know_ it, but you're right: when I see those uniforms, I see my aunt pinned down on the filthy ground. I see my parents with a bullet through their head and the bulge of that monstrous slimy creature, fat with my grandfather's body."

Mags stayed silent, knowing he hadn't finished. He had to let it out, only then could he begin to heal.

"I don't know how you do it, Mags. Look at them in the eyes and talk polite about compromises. I don't know where you find the strength to trust them, any of them, to give them a chance." A hoarse chuckle escaped Kyle's lips. "I know I should be glad, because you gave_ me_ a second chance, but I killed and raped nobody and never wanted to. I want my district strong and free, even if I did it all wrong before. You and Lazuli were the kids who survived the sea of flames. I remember the day you came back, with you squealing and running around your mother like you had gone crazy." He flashed her a small smile. "It was so cute." His face clouded over again. "It makes me so angry, to remember how they dared to spread so much filth in the ocean. How do you do it?"

Mags turned to stare at Kyle, tension binding her muscles. She knew his anger, she knew it all too well, the unquenchable thirst for justice. The desire for revenge and the taste of triumph. It was a poison that chained people down. Grief and grudges, consuming the survivors and destroying them more surely than any weapon the Capitol possessed.

"I have learned not to be vindictive," Mags began, her eyes burning into his. "the citizens of Four, not the Capitol, must be our greater concern. I want our people happy more than I want the Capitol miserable. If we do not take care of each other, no one will, if we do not rebuild, _no one_ will. We remember the dead, we fight for the living," she forcefully said, voicing the unwavering credo that had kept her sane just after her victory, when she had been alone in the Capitol, with her fresh memories of Constantine, Fife and all the extraordinary rebels she had met as only companions. "Justice is an ideal, tornadoes digging paths of destruction through the district every spring is a _reality_. Stop looking at your cousins and thinking that someone should have saved your aunt. Look at them and think you can give them a future, a real one, if you don't give up. We'll destroy eventually," Mags said with a grim smile, causing Kyle's eyebrows to shoot up, "but first we must build. If the Capitol falls today, Four remains the disorganized, poor and ill-equipped sad district that it is now."

"We squeeze all we can from the Capitol, then we rebel?" Kyle said, skepticism warring with awe on his features as he put his hand lightly over hers.

"I _didn't_ tell you that," Mags said pointedly, slowly removing her hand. "I'm on good terms with President Achlys. I want it to stay it that way."

Kyle grinned before winking at her. He was looking at her as if he had never seen her before and Mags found herself basking in the open admiration in his eyes.

Mags inwardly chastised herself. She was trusting Kyle more than was safe. But then why wasn't she more afraid?

* * *

**Please review. **


	37. Alliance

**I recently thanked my favorite guests, now I want to thank some special signed reviewers. Thank you ETNRL4L and Vyrazhi for reviewing every single chapter without delay. Thank you Cairn Destop for catching the mistakes I miss and reminding me creative license doesn't make all the rules obsolete. **

**Thank you to all my other reviewers of course. Reviews aren't the reason I write, but they're definitely the main reason I post^^.**

* * *

_Date: Year 9, September. Thirty days after Mags' victory._

"Esperanza! It's time to pay the price of the defeated," Angelites called, her voice thick with irony, before turning the Capitol-issued television on.

Mags fidgeted on the sofa, her eyes riveted on the Capitol Crest filling the large screen. She tried not to think of all the useful things she could have been doing instead. Not watching the evening news was a crime punishable by five lashes on the first offense, and it was better to know what propaganda the enemy made.

The crest slowly faded as the clock on the wall chimed nine PM. The news were never live, and sun still shone on the crowded terrace of the Capitol's main government building.

The cameras focused on Achlys before Mags could get a better look at the assembled crowd.

Mags stiffened, no public appearance of the President heralded good news. The proud white-haired woman was clad in sumptuous black and red jacket and trousers that closely resembled the uniforms of the Capitol police and high-ranking district peacekeepers.

"That's her warlord uniform, what is she going to talk about?" Esperanza said, grasping Mags' arm. Her dark locks had been cut short, and she looked every bit the little lady now.

It was a rule in the family to speak during the compulsory transmissions. Questions broke the oppressive atmosphere and demystified the lies the Capitol fed them.

"I don't know," Mags muttered.

The screen split in two. Mags' breath hitched when Styx and Delphin appeared on screen. Her heart began hammering painfully in her chest. She lifted her knees to her chin and wrapped her arms protectively around her legs. She had not been expecting images from her Games.

She didn't want to watch this.

She closed her eyes briefly when she felt her mother's supportive hand on her neck.

"It's over, Mags, you kept all your promises," Angelites said, as certain as only a mother could sound, "the Games are to these criminals just one more weapon to control our minds as much as our lives."

Mags felt a spike of fear shoot through her, suddenly afraid Achlys could hear their rebellious words. They had checked every inch of the house for surveillance devices, but those cold intelligent eyes staring at her through the television screen made her feel dangerously observed.

"One month ago, two tributes carried a message for the terrorists planning an attack in the undergrounds of District Three," Achlys began, her vibrant orator's voice imprisoning every viewer into an iron hold. "Our ambition is a Panem that is united and at peace, only then will we rise and prosper as a nation. Ten years ago, we had been merciful and gave a general amnesty to those who were not leaders during the Dark Days. We extended the same offer to the extremists of Three, but they proved once more that that rebels care more about their false ideals than about their well-being or that of their children."

The images and videos shown on half the screen made Mags grind her teeth in rage. "Lie," she spat, "Delphin only ever talked to Scavengers. The other pictures are from Lila's cameras and ours, mixed together to fabricate false evidence. He and Styx never went lower than the third underground. Sylvan's and Chickaree's people never received that offer."

The President smiled thinly. "Fortunately, a few among the Scavengers were wise enough to break away from the monster that dared claim to be their father." She paused as the left-part of the screen revealed once more the filth of the Scavengers' den and their abominable cannibalism.

"Every citizen in Panem saw the monstrosity that Atli had bred, how he had poisoned the minds of the people he dared call his children, taking advantage of their vulnerability and precariousness," Achlys said, her golden eyes blazing and her voice thick with condemnation, "you all saw how he exploited them in the worst ways and committed unspeakable crime in the name of freedom and righteousness."

"The Capitol switches from heinous criminals to poor brainwashed victims with frightening ease," Angelites said, irony heavy in her tone as she grasped her daughter's shaking hand.

The victor had paled at the sight of the dynamite blowing through the hijacked district people dressed like Scavengers. The urge to scream resurfaced as the memories of that inhuman staging awakened her rage. Once more she failed to comprehend how Achlys could be so evil that genuinely believe this was for the good of Panem.

The cameras pulled away from the President, turning to a weathered but healthy looking man with a young child latched to his leg. Through the cameras of Delphin's eyes, the same man, dirty and paler, was shown in the ruins of Three.

He spoke up, his blue eyes staring at the sky. "Every one of us, rebel or Scavenger was given a chance. Atli was a monster. He kept us in filth and ignorance. He burned all the books saying they were tainted by the Capitol and he forced our children to grow up illiterate. He was terrified we would see through his lies, so he told us horrible tales about the outside world and convinced the weakest of us to eat anyone who would cross our path. Anyone who questioned him suffered the same fate."

"Is it truly them?" Angelites asked, skeptical as always when it came to Capitol 'truths'.

"Yes, I remember seeing him. They are the same Scavengers Styx and Delphin had talked to," Mags said, her voice hollow. "I wouldn't be surprised if the Capitol simply bribed them. Life under Atli for someone sane…" Mags said, her voice thick with disgust, "it was horrid, Mama."

She took a shaky breath, willing the memories away.

The cameras were back on Achlys.

"When our brave peacekeepers came to arrest the terrorists, armed with tranquilizers and harmless soporifics, they were met with guns and grenades," the President said, in condemning tones. "Few surrendered, but despite their barbaric behavior, we treated the prisoners with the utmost regard. They were struck by our civility and the great majority recognized their faults."

Mags and her mother exchanged a long suffering glance.

"They had lived so long underground and had no other source of information save their lying officers who made them live in hate of the world above. They recognized their errors when they were shown the truth. Hundreds have now a new home in the districts, as you may already have seen."

Mags frowned. She would have to inquire in Lycorias at the end of her Victory Tour to see who had recently moved.

"Were there even a hundred survivors, Mags?" Angelites said.

"There were ten- to fifteen-score people in the Bunker that night, Mama. Wickers sacrificed himself and a hundred of his people so the others could flee, but the Capitol could have rounded them up. I do not know how many the tranquilizers killed. I know some rebels shot themselves rather than be captured. The Capitol could be boosting the numbers, but it could be true," she said in a small voice.

"Thousands more would now be back among you had the dynamite so thoughtlessly blown up not caused the Citadel to collapse on itself." Achlys' traits hardened and her tone grew thick with contempt. "Wickers destroyed his people and their shelter with greater efficiency than I ever could have done. A thousand avoxes but also fifteen hundred rebels who died when the tons of dynamite shattered the weak restraints their poor engineers had built and devastated the Citadel. We respect life and believe in the lawfulness of men, he preferred to kill those he was responsible for rather than admit his mistakes."

"I'll kill her," Mags hissed through clenched teeth.

She realized she had stood up in fury when she felt Esperanza's hand tug on her shirt.

"How did the thousand die? You didn't tell us that," her sister said, her voice steady despite the pallor of her features.

"Because of a man who served the Capitol and not with dynamite," the victor ground out. Cresyl remained too dangerous to mention, but she could not stand for such lies. "The Citadel and Bunker are intact; she wants to make sure people stay away."

"Randall will tell you more," Achlys was saying. She gestured to a robust man with a shaved head.

"I know him," Mags muttered, straining her memory to recall why he sounded familiar.

"I was one of the first to reach the Citadel and lived seven years in the part known as the Bunker, directly under Wickers' command. Few of us ever went to the surface anymore. We didn't know. We believed Wickers' words because he'd been a great warrior during the Dark Days, but the years had rendered him mad with hate," Randall said, deep sadness in his brown eyes. "We let ourselves sink in immorality, kept strong by the thought we were superior and had to answer to no one. We were poor, disorganized, inefficient, but we refused to see it. The Capitol was generous to grant us a second chance." He straightened and took a heavy breath. "Some of my people and I have decided to remain here for the time being and help rebuild. This destruction was a great crime. Captain Wickers took the decision alone, but we are guilty of having granted him such a power. I am ashamed of ever having been a rebel."

Mags felt her mother tense sharply at his last sentence. Delivered in such a defeated tone, it had the simple efficiency of a knife thrust.

The extent of the destruction in the Capitol was then broadcasted for all to see. The fires had been put out, but the gaping hole and collapsed buildings in the middle of the cranes and scaffolding was still quite visible.

"Randall was from the bunker," Mags said, remembering now, "Sylvan gave him an order in front of us, told him to listen to Chickaree…" she let her voice trail off, not knowing what to say.

_Turncoat_ was on the tip of her tongue, but the rebellion of Three's underground was only a shattered dream and maybe Randall was as much of a turncoat as she was, biding his time and learning as much as he could of the Capitol. She nevertheless wondered how many of the watchers clung to that hope and how many instead believed that rebellion was a fool's dream. Belief meant little if they could not shake off the Capitol's hold.

"I don't want to watch that," Esperanza murmured, turning her head to the side and burying it in the sofa.

Mags lifted her eyes back on the screen. She frowned at the picture of a middle-aged woman with red hair.

_Penny Altar, 46, District One._

More faces slowly appeared, the same neutral expressions, the same dyed dull red hair, one after the other, all of district One.

Horror froze Mags body when she realized these were the dead avoxes, shown by district and alphabetical order, all one thousand of them.

"So _now_ they're human," Mags growled, feeling tears mount in her eyes at the Capitol's shameless use of the deaths. "They're called by numbers in the Capitol. It's stitched to their shoulders and chest, but now, they're treated as human," she repeated, shaking with rage.

"They have pictures of every living avox?" Angelites said, her voice as cold as her expression. "Does this come from their databases or was this a monstrous last minute decision when Achlys thought of the damage she could wreak?"

"Did you know any of them, Mama?" Esperanza whispered. "There's so many of them."

Mags hated the Capitol for forcing anyone eleven and older to watch the Games and the news. Their overlords wanted them to grow up shattered and subdued, and many children, who lacked Esperanza's strength or saw their own parents lose hope, already were.

"Wickers had to detonate or the Capitol would have taken control of enough explosives to raze a district to the ground." Their mother replied forcefully, putting an arm around her youngest. "He would just have destroyed buildings had Achlys not chosen to endanger these people. She is responsible for their deaths, not the rebels."

"But did you?" Esperanza insisted in a small voice.

"Yes," Angelites admitted, "but no one I knew well."

People would recognize friends and family. How many would blame the rebels instead of the Capitol? How many would just grieve, not caring about the culprit but broken by one more source of sorrow?

"While we're on the topics of buildings, how are we doing?" Mags cut in, not wanting to dwell longer than necessary on the dead. She had started pacing in the room, unable to keep her eyes on the screen. It would be long minutes before it would reach District Four, and Mags already couldn't stand it anymore. "They've started digging, but when will everyone be operational?"

Her mother stood up and went to take her ledger.

"We've reached two hundred new jobs we can comfortably afford in addition to the materials. Fifty of these will only start working when the foundations will be laid, for piping, electricity and all that," she said, "but forty are being taught by the other ten who had some experience at finishing their own houses. Quartz Goby actually burnt his down while setting up electricity a few years back, but he swears he's learnt now," Angelites said with a rueful smile. "We can't pay them too much, or it'll cause inflation, but they'll all earn decent amounts." She spread her arms out and planted a kiss on Mags' forehead. "Well done, you just cut down unemployment by half," she said brightly. "I made sure we employed intelligently to avoid having families with four working adults and some with none."

"That's clever," Esperanza said, eyeing the two appraisingly.

The raven-haired woman flashed Mags a wry grin "I'm actually working harder now than I did before you won."

Mags patted her on the back. "It's for the good of Panem, Mama."

"Oh it's wonderful. I was afraid of being bored."

Mags laughed. Bored. What an odd word. Who had the time for that?

"I'm now seeing how we can keep everyone employed once the houses are finished," Angelites continued. "We'll have to anticipate on more wood shipments to build the new fishing vessels. Motors are especially expensive and the amount of fuel we receive is ridiculous. So that's on the agenda too. Constructions will inevitably slow down during the winter but I think we'll have finished clearing the desalinization factory and be ready to build the academy just after your victory tour."

"It's perfect," Mags said, almost forgetting the faces on display.

***skip***

* * *

_Date: Year 9, October. Fifty-three days after Mags' victory._

"This has to be the most depressing market I have _ever_ seen," the blonde complained, "there is _nothing_ except food that stinks and rags woven together." Marquise paused to shoot the gray sky a dirty look. The drizzle was soaking them through. "Even the stray cats look evil. I tried to adopt one, ungrateful beast," she muttered, rubbing her arm with such a glum expression that Mags stifled a laugh.

Cats were commonplace in town, feeding off scraps, but calling them tame was a long shot.

"That ten year old who sells pretty shells is the only redeeming quality of this place." Marquise huffed in dismay. "I forgot the pots," she said, gesturing at a small stand, "at least they're colored even if it looks like a child's work."

"Kyle's aunt Narissa sells them," Mags said, not wanting to indulge Marquise's nostalgia of One's beautiful markets too much. Four wasn't luxurious, and Creneis was but a small town.

"The one who lives with her friend, right?" Marquise said with a smile full of double-meanings.

Mags shot her a quizzical glance. What juicy gossip did Marquise want to share now?

Marquise snickered. "The kind of _friend_ you live with for ten years with."

"People can't all afford two houses," Mags said with a frown, "if she likes having her best friend around…"

"Can't afford two beds either? Neither pretty young woman ever dated in the last ten years?"

Mags' face darkened. She could understand why Narissa may never have found a man to truly trust. Fifteen was a fragile age and her ordeal would have been hard on any grown woman. Her eyes suddenly narrowed in warning, she remembered the conversation she'd had with Fife and Constantine in the bunker.

"Don't you dare spread rumors like that around Marquise, or I'll never treat you as more than a guard. You know what happens to people who practice same-sex relations."

Marquise stepped back, taken aback by Mags' fury. "Only when it's men, no? Some women are just very affectionate…"

"Just don't speak of it," Mags said coldly. She couldn't stand the thought Kyle's family coming to harm, especially because of something so stupid.

"Fine, whatever," Marquise said with an eye roll, looking miffed.

"Mags!" A familiar voice called.

The victor felt her lips twitch in surprise as she spun round. Kyle was hurrying towards her, his face drawn from lack of sleep but his smile as brilliant as ever.

The young man cracked a self-satisfied smile. "Lots of interesting things found scrubbing ships' hulls," he said handing her a bucket.

A three yard long garland of highly iridescent nacre shells linked together by thin wire. A smile bloomed on Mags' lips at the thought that she'd occupied his thoughts while he had worked. She really wasn't used to receiving presents, not that she needed anything anymore. He had a gift for making her feel special.

"Aww," Marquise cooed, "abalone shells, how sweet."

Kyle's eyes narrowed in annoyance. He bit back a retort and turned around and stepped up to Adrian Crow's large stand where he lifted up a large swordfish, mindless of the vendor's warning.

"Sword fish, for strong lady, so you can stick it to the guys. It goes with your name, Peacekeeper Rapier," Kyle said with a smirk. "It's tasty too."

Marquise eyed the fish suspiciously. "It's lacking a fin and looks maimed."

"That's why it's sold here and not taken to the Capitol. It's still just as good."

"I'm going to look like an idiot carrying this around," Marquise grumbled. But she seemed unwilling to put it back.

"Do you have money with you?" Kyle asked, a calculating eyebrow raised.

Mags was staring at their byplay bemused.

Marquise snorted. "Why would I? There's nothing to buy."

"Then convince them you caught it. They swim near the surface anyway and your uniform is soaked."

Marquise chuckled at that. She threw the heavy fish over her shoulder, proving she hadn't shirked peacekeeper fitness classes. "Fine, I'll leave you two together," she said with a wink.

Mags smiled as she went to pay for the swordfish, glad Kyle was at least trying to connect with Marquise. The blonde stood out enough from the traditional peacekeeper that it was doubtless easier. Indra or Alaric would have sliced Kyle in two with the fish's blade had he been that insolent with them.

Kyle soon reached her side, a flush had crept up his face. "Sorry about making you pay for that, I wasn't thinking well. I'm exhausted." His easy grin was back in a flash, lighting his whole face. "I'm a free man now, though."

He looked much too adorable for Mags to be anything but endeared. She wrapped the long garland of beautiful shells proudly around her neck.

"You look like you haven't slept in a week." Mags said, putting a hand on his shoulder as she took in how tanned he'd become. "You've truly done five hundred hours of work in forty days?"

Kyle shrugged. "I'm young and healthy, I managed. I wanted more time with you and just be free of it."

Mags nodded, impressed by his drive. She was thrilled to see he hadn't grown more distant after her birthday, when it had become clear that she didn't believe he owed her anything anymore. She couldn't help thinking this wasn't just about proving himself and erasing his previous mistakes. With him having worked sixteen hours instead of twelve six days a week since her birthday, she'd had little occasion to see him, but whenever he had, he'd been cheerful and eager to listen. He was probably the most relaxing person to be around, and the way he looked at her made her feel better about herself than she ever had.

"He also really needs a paid job," Narissa said, appearing right behind Mags, "Want a portrait? It's not Capitol quality but it'll smell like home. I can draw both of you together. The rain only makes it more unique," the black-haired woman added with a dazzling smile.

Mags laughed, unmindful of the drizzle. "Fine," she said, figuring she'd love having a picture of the both of them later.

As she sat down on the bench before Narissa, she had an idea. "I could have a job for you, Kyle. I'll need ledgers kept with everything I'm spending. Mama is still figuring out how many people are needed for the constructions, how many I can afford, and how many people need a job in Four, which are three different numbers," she commented wryly, "and also what kind of training they'll need and how long everything will take and…" Mags sighed. "I'll spare you, but the bottom line is, I need someone I can trust who knows numbers. Three people who do actually, excluding Mama, and I have only one for the moment. Mama can spare the time to teach you. I'll pay you for the learning too, since it's a fair investment. You'll save me lots of time if you do it properly."

Kyle nodded eagerly. His eyebrows were cocked in an adorable fashion as he struggled to take in everything she'd said.

"How much will you pay him?" Narissa asked, pulling Kyle's shoulders backwards to make him sit straight. She moved the umbrella to protect the two teenagers from the rain.

"Auntie, she won't use me, don't push it," Kyle huffed, shooting Mags an apologetic look.

Mags turned to Narissa with a small smile. "How much do you need?"

Kyle blushed furiously when his aunt gave a number that matched the income of three confirmed sailors. "That's ridiculous," he muttered, earning himself a dark glare from his aunt.

Mags' eyebrows flew up to her hairline. Haggling was a common practice, but she felt ill at ease at the prospect of discussing Kyle like a bag of mussels.

"He'll work day and night and sing your praises," Narissa said with her brightest seller's smile. "I have young children to feed. You've seen how scrawny they are."

Mags felt something lodge itself in her throat. The difference was that usually both hagglers were poor and both knew how much the other could afford. Mags could afford everything. She had realized the week before that her allowance represented the mean annual earnings of a Capitolite, and would fly through her fingers were she to buy Capitol luxuries and treat herself to exotic food every day, but in Creneis, she was as wealthy as the other five thousand inhabitants combined and had much less expenses.

"How much more will you save if his good work makes the constructions end even just one week earlier than expected?" Narissa pursued, ignoring Kyle's pleading look.

_Good point._ Mags suddenly felt petty. Narissa wasn't speaking out of greed but out of necessity.

"Deal. I'll dock it if Mama says you're not keeping up," she said with a forced smile, not wanting Kyle to feel the pay was undeserved.

Narissa's soft singing as she began the portrait only increased Mags' wry amusement and Kyle's embarrassment. His young aunt looked like a content cat.

Mags barely knew the woman. Narissa was always rather distant and didn't seem to know how to start any kind of personal conversation, so Mags hadn't insisted. Time would doubtless help.

The portrait was a simple pencil likeness but it was strikingly real. Narissa had even managed to capture Kyle's light blush and the shine of the abalone shells.

"Wow. I'll send Esperanza and Mama to you," Mags said, her face lighting up in delight. "Keep the change," she said, taking a small pile of coins out of her bag.

"Thank you, Mags," Narissa said with a satisfied half-smile.

"Sorry about my aunt," Kyle whispered when they stood up again, his cheeks blazing. "She's -"

"It's not greed when you really need it," Mags interrupted, not wanting to discuss money further.

They didn't live in a town where effort was justly rewarded. The majority was poor but only because the Capitol took the lion's share.

"I'm going to have to find yet another way not to feel in your debt then," Kyle said with a brave smile. "You force a guy to have bold ambitions."

"I keep only the best," Mags replied with a smirk.

She immediately chastised herself, aware that type of banter was why she had remained single despite the respectable number of boys that had been interested enough to flirt with her over the years. By having too high standards and acting too strong, she scared them away, and Kyle blushed so much around her it was obvious he wasn't entirely comfortable. Boys wanted to feel needed, Dylana had told her once. Mags guessed girls were no different. Her heart fluttered whenever she saw gratefulness or admiration on Kyle's handsome face.

"You haven't thrown me away yet," Kyle pointed out, crossing his arms over his toned chest with a satisfied smile. "Shall I walk you home?"

Did he even need to ask?

* * *

_Date: Year 9, November. Eighty-four days after Mags' victory._

"There," Kyle muttered triumphantly. "The taxes were counted twice on the shipment sales. That's why the prices were inconsistent."

The young man was still working with her mother and Mags was glad she had come in quietly. Kyle's brow was furrowed in concentration as sat hunched over columns of numbers and scribbled notes on a piece of paper. Mags smiled. He looked much more self assured than he had mere weeks before.

"Good," Angelites said, "checking ledgers is harder than keeping them. You'll soon be independent enough not to require my supervision."

"You're purposefully putting mistakes in, Mama?"

The two turned to Mags. Warmth infused her cheeks as she saw Kyle's lips bloom into a broad smile. She was always both surprised and thrilled by how happy he looked to see her.

"He needs to learn to spot them. Five minutes, Mags, and he'll be all yours."

Mags flashed her a grin before disappearing in the kitchen. Esperanza was sitting on the counter with an expectant expression.

"When are you going to kiss him?" The raven-haired girl whispered, punching her older sister on the arm. "He'll go mad from waiting, and you too."

Mags frowned, shooting her sister a mild glare. "Why doesn't he kiss _me_, then?" She muttered crossly, sounding more grumpy than she'd have liked.

She didn't want to admit she'd lost hours of sleep contemplating it. She knew she could just as well kiss him herself, but she had been so explicit already. They were almost holding hands whenever they walked, he couldn't be oblivious. Since she was the one who paid him, Mags wanted him to make the first move. She didn't want him to feel conflicted and forced to accept if he didn't feel as strongly towards her.

"Because nothing ever stops you when you want something," Esperanza said knowingly, "so if you're not kissing him it means you don't want to."

Mags eyes narrowed in acute attention. "He told you that?" Esperanza was clever and observant, but not _that_ clever and observant. Retrospectively, Mags wasn't surprised her sister had tried to get information out of the boy. He spent almost half his days here now.

"Not like that," Esperanza admitted, "but he said 'nothing can stop her when she wants something' and he said like ten times that he valued your trust and friendship a lot. Really ten times," she said with a smug little smile.

Mags had to raise a fist to her mouth to stifle her mounting gales of laughter. Kyle was afraid to be presumptuous? Afraid she would think that he was being so helpful just to get in her pants? They both had been thinking way too much.

She heard Kyle putting on his coat and winked at her sister before exiting the kitchen.

Kyle's goodbyes to her were always a little awkward. Ritual words followed by a silence during which neither spoke, as if the other's face had entrancing qualities that made breaking their gaze too difficult without effort. This time, Mags brought her hand to his cheek, drinking in the sight of him and closed the distance between them.

Never had she felt so self-conscious about a simple kiss. The position of her nose, the wetness of her lips... Mags slowed slightly, almost panicked by what she was doing. Her hammering heart pumped dangerous amounts of oxygen in her whirring brain, and she was suddenly afraid to fall.

Everything faded when her lips met his. Her worries melted away and she let her hand drop from his face, inwardly laughing at her earlier nervousness. It hadn't been so hard.

"We'll talk tomorrow, and you should have told my sister earlier you wanted me to be the one to kiss you," Mags said, her flushed cheeks aching from the force of her smile.

"Walk me home?" Kyle said, an almost pleading light in his gorgeous eyes as he held both her arms.

"No. Deal with it," Mags said, much too giddy to have a coherent conversation. She didn't want to make an utter fool of herself and the more cautious part of her knew she would reveal too much about things she had to keep hidden if Kyle asked. "Tomorrow morning, nine o'clock, I'll come and get you."

"Sure," Kyle said, merry shock written all over his face. He stole a parting kiss and winked before pulling on his hood and running out in the cold rain.

Mags licked her lips, her eyes never leaving him until he had disappeared.

"So what does he taste like?"

"_Esperanza_," Mags chided, unable to keep herself from smiling. She only then realized she was standing in a puddle of water and hurriedly shut the door.

"You should have been louder," Esperanza shot back, "Mama didn't see!"

"Didn't see what?" Angelites called from the living room.

"They kissed!" Esperanza squealed. "And then Mags kicked him out," she added, erupting into hysterical laughter which drowned their mother's answer.

Mags all but skipped up to her mother, who was putting the practice ledger away. The sparkling energy that sizzled through every fiber of her being and kept a helpless smile on her face suddenly quieted. Kyle made her feel more alive, more immersed in the present, enjoying moments instead of planning for a faraway future. Now that they had kissed, she realized she hadn't never noticed just how intense the colors all around her were.

In comparison, the raven-haired woman before her, despite her warm smile, had rarely looked so alone.

Mags now ached to see her mother happy, to know there was someone she could confide him and who would protect her above all else, someone to whom she meant the world. Mags' face fell at the memory of her father, of how perfect her parents had been together. Her mother had decades to live and Mags wanted to hear her carefree laughter and see her lean trustingly into strong arms again.

"Mama, have you ever thought of getting married again? Or just dating?"

Angelites lifted her eyes of the storage cabinet and turned to stare at the victor. The abrupt question, accompanied by her daughter's loving yet mournful expression, made her gesture towards the sofa in front of the bay window.

Esperanza, now quiet as a mouse, came to sit next to them, snuggling against her sister.

"I don't think it would be a bad thing," Mags said shyly, loosely wrapping an arm around the older woman as the other seemed to collect her thoughts.

The memories Mags had of her parents together were few but vivid. Stories told by candlelight, her mother leaning into her father. A rough cheek tickling her stomach while her mother forced her clothes off her to get her to take a bath. The first days of the rebellion, hidden in dark cramped spaces, squeezed between her parents' bodies as they fled the city to meet with the rest of the rebels. Her father's beaming face after hours of frantic pacing as his glowing wife presented him their perfect daughter, born prematurely in the home of strangers kind enough to help them without asking questions, and declaring she would be called Hope. Her parents' last embrace, eyes whispering wordless promises and blazing in unspent passion; their hands locked so tightly that Mags cried, feeling something break, when the reluctantly let go of the other.

"You remember the tapestries we sold," Angelites began, "cotton, silk, silver and gold spun into legends. Symbols and homages, stories… They told of a world so large and diverse, Jasper and I could not imagine our lives without them. District One was so much more political, Mags," she said, "people rarely spoke their minds, hiding behind honeyed words and appearance. Everything here is much simpler, but people care little for beauty and dreams." The woman smiled, her eyes far away. "We would climb on the roof of the house and imagine a better world while gazing at the stars. I never tired of the way your father spoke, using elegant words for the simple pleasure of hearing the sound of them."

Her face darkened, the thin lines of grief marking her face suddenly more acute. Rivulets of water ran down the large window, blurring the sight of the town below.

"Animals spend energy to find food just as we do, but only humans dream, I think," the widow whispered, "Jasper gave a depth to existence that I haven't found in another man. He had a sophistication I had never encountered in Creneis, yet without the arrogance and airs so many in his district affected." A soft chuckle escaped Angelites' lips. "I would not have traveled so far to find your father had a man in Creneis appealed to me. And in truth, Mags, I don't see myself loving another. He would have to surprise me very much."

"You still love Dad. I mean, of course you do," Mags said, "but you..." her voice broke slightly, "you're still married, you... don't feel single."

A small sorrowful smile graced her mother's lips and Mags wondered how she could not have seen it before.

_After all these years._

"I made so many plans with Jasper. We had so many dreams and believed in them so hard..." Angelites' wistful smile broadened. She embraced her daughters. "Two of them are still running around," she said, her eyes glistening as lifted her hand to Mags' golden-brown hair. "You look more like him than you know, Preciosa."

* * *

**Author's Note: **

**a very 'domestic' chapter, but daily life defines character as much as the big crises. Those won't be very numerous. **

This marks the end of the first arc. Mags struggled to put her plans in motion. Now she has garnered enough support to begin the rebuilding, which will be a long process. We're not even close to the completion of the Academy (if you have a brilliant name idea for it, don't hesitate to submit it.) but I won't cover it too extensively, or this book will have to be a trilogy of its own.

If you wish to see more of Mags with the townspeople, the peacekeepers or Kyle, say it in a review (not 'more Kyle!' but what kind of scene you actually want.) and I will do my best to write outtakes.

For your information, Mags was reaped on August 6th, the train crashed on August 13th and she won in the very early morning on August 20th. The Victory Tour begins on the first week of February. Mags was born on September 14th and Esperanza on July 1st.

**Please review.**


	38. Departure

**Just like the Games, early-years Victory Tours are different from what we see in canon. Victors are less exposed and there is nothing is improvised. I won't spend very long on the victory tour (I wrote a very detailed one in Showdown) because it isn't essential.**

**I have posted a new story: Checkmate: behind the scenes. It contains outtakes (well, one outtake for the moment, and two on the waiting list). So don't hesitate to give me ideas of scenes you want written that haven't fit in the main story. **

**I have begun a 3 month internship. I work from 9am to 7pm every day of the week. It will impact my posting speed. Please be indulgent^^.**

* * *

_Date: Year 10, February. Six months after Mags' victory._

"Play by the rules, Preciosa," Angelites said as she fastened Mags' golden brown hair back with a wooden clasp. "Now more than ever, do not give the President any reason to suspect you. Please, do not stand out. _Please_," the woman repeated, her eyes glistening at the prospect of letting her daughter leave, with no way to contact her for over a week.

Mags grasped her mother's hands, wishing she could soothe her anguish. "I promise, Mama. I won't try anything."

Heavy with the remains of the last meal she had shared with her mother and sister, Mags' stomach churned as she stepped on the first wagon of the hooting train.

The winter sun had already descended below the horizon line and tomorrow, she would be in District Twelve.

She knew what was expected of her.

The Victory Tour was not broadcasted, but when the seven previous victors had come to Four – Whit from Nine had killed himself before reaching District Seven - , they never had had to say a word. They had all been clad in similar clothes, a brown jacket and trousers adorning the Capitol crest, with a sash representing the color of their district.

Mags hadn't even known districts had symbolic colors before. Seven was green, Nine dark yellow, Ten brown, Three silver, Six gray, One golden and Four blue. She guessed she'd have to wait for more victors to see what the others colors were.

Mags had seen all the ceremonies behind the large screens of Creneis' square. People were not obliged to go to the main town like they did for the Reapings, but peacekeepers made sure all attended, young and old. Unlike the Games and evening news, all had to watch. Not even toddlers could be completely kept in the dark about the horror of the Hunger Games.

The victors had all been accompanied by their escort, who read the same ritual words year after year.

"Children grow up in the world their parents saw fit to offer them. Children pay for their parents' mistakes. You saw fit to ignore the consequences and willingly plunged Panem in chaos to satiate your greed," the accented voice, a gravelly bass or a chiming soprano would say, always with the same damning finality. "No crime goes unpunished and now two more of your children have died. As a nation, you failed to obey the laws of our legitimate Government, and obstruct the peace our enlightened leaders enforce for the prosperity of all Panem. You still have not learned from your mistakes. Therefore the Hunger Games will go on for one more year. Your children will pay for your crimes."

Mags was surprised people still had children after listening to that. She was certain nine months after the Victory Tour has to be the time of the year with the fewest births. It certainly put a damper on _her_ wish to become a mother.

But it was not the ritual words she dreaded.

What the victor dreaded would happen after there had been a silence long enough to let the escort's speech sink in. The giant projections screens would replay the deaths of the two tributes from the visited district, but not before a short text on each tribute had been read. It wouldn't do to have the dead be simple anonymous figures to the watchers. No, the Games had to wound. To strike deep.

* * *

Mags waved at her mother through the glass of the train's door, forcing a smile on her face. She spared a nod to Marquise and Legend and wished she had been able to give Kyle and Esperanza one last goodbye.

Her escort did not bother to lift his eyes from the book he was reading as she slipped into the compartment.

Lucian Gemini was a very thin man in his thirties. Ivory horned glasses rested on the tip of his long nose, just above a spring-like silver mustache. A long goatee of the same shiny silver curled forward under his chin. His eyes were both striking and terrifying, one was brilliant dark blue and the other vivid red, giving the escort's gaze an air of madness that made one want to flee.

Mags couldn't help a slight wince. His thick silver hair were hidden beneath what looked to be the pelt of a dead animal, white silky fur, with two small paws hugging his ears and a dark-tipped tail falling down his neck.

"Ermine?" Mags guessed weakly, finding the word amidst fuzzy memories from her early childhood.

"Kwafewrs are all the newest rage," Lucian drawled, barely acknowledging her presence.

Mags blinked at the meaningless word. "Pardon my ignorance…?"

"_Coiffure_ is a style or manner of arranging the hair," Lucian painstakingly explained, spelling the word out. "As this is fur, the name is Coif-_furs_," he said, clicking his book shut and standing up to face her.

_I see..._ Mags nodded, trying to look impressed. The pelt was beautiful, but she still shivered at the thought of wearing a dead fancy rat on her own hair.

She opened her mouth to say something but Lucian raised both his gloved hands to stop her.

"Let us keep all our talks informative and civil like during the Games, and the week will go over smoothly."

Mags resigned herself to a long trip. One week alone with her memories of Fife and Constantine, one week wondering where the allegedly freed rebels now lived and trying to glean information on the Districts from the very little she would see. Her face fell at the prospect. Why could at least Marquise have come along? The peacekeeper would have been thrilled to leave Creneis for a time and she'd have made decent company.

Mags gave the escort a curt nod.

The distance Lucian kept between the two of them, the inordinate amount of perfume he wore and the white gloves he changed every day were indication enough of his opinion of district people. He would probably have a stroke were she to sneeze on him.

He had made very clear the first time her and Delphin had traveled with him that he had taken the job only because the President had asked him. Mags still wondered what special talent Lucian hid, or if Achlys had just wanted to get rid of him.

"Is there a schedule I should know of?" Mags said, as politely as she could, "I haven't been prepared."

"You will wear the clothes in the closet and keep clean and groomed like a civilized young woman. You will stand tall, keep your expression pleasant, and will not interrupt the speaker or try to interact with the crowds in any way," Lucian said, as if talking to a small child. He was already walking away from her. "Peacekeepers will be assigned to you in every district."

"I want Valerian Fletcher in District One," Mags found herself saying.

She ground her teeth together after the words had escaped her lips. She had promised her mother mere minutes before.

The silver haired man's jaw clenched, causing his mustache to twitch. He froze but didn't turn around.

"Excuse me?"

So tense she barely dared to breathe, Mags decided that if Achlys had seen no harm in her recent activities, this single demand would not create a stir. There was nothing rebellious about it.

"Valerian Fletcher was the Peacekeeper Sergeant who rescued us on the last days of the Games. He protected us during that horrible battle against the rebels. District One South Sector. I would like to thank him since I did not before," Mags voice hardened before the man could dismiss her and take his leave. "It is my only demand during the trip. I will not be difficult and only ask questions relevant to the tour," she promised, hiding her clenched fist behind her back.

Lucian slowly turning his eyes towards her and finally nodded, his expression still pinched, as if she was the carrier of a dangerous infectious disease.

"Very well. I will make arrangements. Keep yourself occupied. I will give you a list with the schedule of our stops before I retire for the night."

Keep herself occupied? Mags suddenly wished she knew how to draw like Glynn. She had taken nothing with her. The walls of the wagon were so close. She stared at the ceiling. Had it moved closer to her while she looked away?

Her heart accelerated and Mags suddenly was breathless, desperate to exit the cramped room.

The rational part of her struggled to calm her body down. Train walls did not close upon passengers and she had enough air for weeks. If the rest of her heard those arguments, it didn't pay heed.

Her mouth had gone dry and sweat pearled on her brow. She couldn't spend six days like this.

Her cheeks burned with shame as she forced herself to admit defeat.

"Sir, I am afraid my tolerance for closed spaces has disappeared after the Games, is there a way to reduce it?"

Lucian rolled his eyes at her, scorn written all over his face. "I'll get you pills for anxiety." His thin smile fell. "Paid by your account," he warned, his mismatched eyes darkening in suspicion.

Mags forced herself not to glare back. Rarely had she been so docile and polite, and Lucian still found a way to be unpleasant. She pitied the people who lived with him, such behavior couldn't just stem from a distaste of district dwellers.

Comfortably seated in the stuffed armchair, Mags noted with great relief that the pills had completely cleared her mind.

The railways shimmered with an odd substance. Mags had never noticed. She hadn't really paid attention. It glistened in the moonlight. Maybe it was what kept the railways so neat, why the wildgrass and deep roots stopped dead five yards away on each side. Even the snow seemed loath to cross the invisible line between the wilderness and the railway stretching out beyond the horizon.

* * *

Mags realized she had fallen asleep while watching the scenery. She jumped to her feet, all too vividly reminded of the previous time she had stirred in the comfortable armchair of a Capitol train.

The train's rumble was deafening. Mags head darted to the sides: every shadow turned to fire at the edge of her vision. Her hands fastened so tightly on the table that the wood creaked.

Mags snapped her eyes back on the landscape, taking slow regular breaths to force her upset senses back under control. She swallowed a couple of the nearby pills, not even bothering to go ask for a glass of water.

So this was Twelve, she thought, embracing the landscape. She couldn't see the mountains yet. The victor would visit two districts a day, one in the morning, either after dawn or closer to midday, depending on the distance, and one later in the day. She would stop for less than two hours in each main town. Her insides clenched from disappointment as she realized she would know barely more about Panem after the Tour than she did now. A part of her had truly hoped this trip would give her insight on how the other districts worked. She should have known that Achlys would never have overlooked such a blatant loophole. She would be kept away from the population, the segregation would be almost complete.

She heard Lucian enter the compartment but did not turn as he offered no greeting. She absently wondered if the second wagon carried avoxes. She hadn't seen any yet.

Mags had never truly realized how huge the districts were and how comparatively tiny the inhabited areas had to be. This was the land she had been born in, and she knew almost nothing of it. Even during the war, they hadn't strayed too far from the ancient roads that still crossed the continent. These were full of pits and crevices, often washed away by landslides, huge shattered paths of asphalt, cracked by centuries of exposure to the elements, but there grass grew thinner and the beasts stayed away.

Those roads had told her what the Capitol had always remained vague on. That towns, cities and villages had once numbered the thousands and people over a hundred times what Panem could boast, that the sea had indeed risen, for many of those roads ended directly in the water. Some signs, bent, battered and half-concealed by rampant growth, still had borne visible inscriptions.

_180, Mexico, Tampico. _

Mags wasn't sure there were a hundred and eighty working railways in the whole of Panem now.

* * *

The dawn sky was pastel blue, no hint of cloud in any direction. The air was pure as could be.

That's when the victor saw it, jagged crumbling spires in the distance. Hidden amidst the climbing plants hungry to reconquer what men had once colonized, so far even the slightest hints of clouds would have hidden it from view.

Ruins. Ruins of a time where people were free to travel and to choose their trade, of a time were languages were many and information widespread.

"Chicago," the escort unexpectedly offered, his eyes locked on the dead city, "it's so easy to forget all this ever existed, so easy to deny that we are a dying people, living off the scraps of a once glorious civilization," he whispered in bitter tones.

"What do they say about it?" Mags said, her voice dry with awe.

"That it was one of the beating hearts of this country before the waters rose. Fifteen million people lived and worked in those skyscrapers and the neighboring suburbs."

_Fifteen million?_ Mags' eyes widened in shock and horror. Surely the histories had been embellished by a nostalgic. How could have so many died when those same people had built railways that withstood centuries of abuse?

"The sea rose abruptly, more violent than anyone had prepared for," Lucian continued, "They washed away chemicals and bacterial agents regardless of the many protections to avoid such a disaster. People drank the contaminated water rather than die of thirst. Millions fled and efforts to quarantine failed. The plagues spread fast and the best laboratories were underwater, empty, with the specialists fleeing with the common citizen. Chicago stood far from the sea, but when thirty million refugees from the west coast crossed the Appalachians, they brought death in their wake. The cities died like a rose withers after a night too chilly. It was utter chaos."

_Thirty million?_ Mags found she couldn't even comprehend the number.

Mags turned to the man. He was slightly taller than her, but for a Capitolite, he was short, and yet as he spoke of history, his mesmerizing eyes shone with hunger that gave him an unnerving aura. Mags found herself staring, intrigued to finally have glimpsed something personal about the escort. Lucian Gemini was a scholar. Mags had to find more ways to make him impart his knowledge.

"They say there is a world beyond the ocean," Lucian murmured, "but communications were lost."

_A world beyond the ocean._

Maybe, if she failed, Mags would find the best boat in Four and go there.

* * *

**Edit: I replaced New York by Chicago (there was really no reason for her to see NYC, Chicago is already a slight detour).**

**Please review^^.**


	39. One

_Date: Year 10, February. Six months after Mags' victory._

"I have to admit I am relieved," Lucian said, a pensive cast to his face as he sat across from her on the table.

Mags put down the Capitol newspaper he had consented to lend her, curious he would spontaneously start a conversation. She had been making a list of who's who among their overlords for personal reference.

"I was expecting you to be a greater nuisance," the escort pursued, his mismatched eyes narrowing in suspicion, as if she'd behaved to better annoy him later.

Even when he was pleased he managed to sound unpleasant.

"I volunteered," Mags said with a tight smile, the hand resting on her lap clenching on its own.

Yet she was proud of having survived the week without incident. District One, the Capitol, and she would be finally home.

The days had both flown by and felt like they would never end. The train had zoomed through the countryside bringing the victor from city to city, square to square, stage to stage, where she had stood without saying a word, a testament of the Capitol's power. Mags had tried to look strong but not arrogant, tried to convey a sense of independence, but she knew it had been pointless. From a distance people would only see the uniform she wore and hear the Capitol's words. Still, she had concentrated on her posture in the hope it would distract her from her surroundings and hasten the end of her ordeal.

Thousands of faces had gazed up at her in ten different districts, and while she had learned nothing of strategic importance, she had seen the first hand the effects of those devastating 'victory' speeches. She had seen necks bow, faces pale and fists clench. She had heard sobs and seen the tears glistening in people's eyes when they heard how much the tributes' families had depended on them, about those murdered children's passions and dreams.

Mags knew her knees would have given away had she killed even a single one of them.

She had also seen indifference, people hiding themselves behind a wall of apathy rather than let themselves be hurt. Those had chilled Mags to the bone, because apathy was the first step towards accepting the Hunger Games or even enjoying them. After all, didn't all prefer to enjoy themselves rather than weep about things they could not control?

Her escort's behavior on stage was the only small mercy. The silver-haired man told the truth as he saw it and kept the speeches short and respectful, devoid of embellishments or overdone pathos. Vicuña's escort had delighted in long passionate eulogies, and had a gift for making the audience feel for the dead as they would have for their own child or sibling. It had been torture.

Lucian talked instead like a historian narrating the merits of soldiers fallen a century before. It was painful enough as such. Mags had known these people and even with her back turned to the giant screens, she saw their faces and heard their voices in her mind, brought back to another time.

_Fife Chican was seventeen. She was a consummate manipulator but also very much a child. Unlike her younger brother Tabor who was reported to be quite the ladies' man, she died without having ever kissed a boy. She proclaimed before the Capitol that, like her mother, she was clairvoyant, but even that didn't save her. She loved to run the streets of the city with her friend Cat, and was fundamentally a happy, optimistic child. She killed quickly and without remorse, and yet kept no grudges and was loyal to her allies even with a gun in hand. She hid whenever the violence became too much but never fled or lost her wits," _Lucian had said, his voice solemn. He didn't pretend to be affected, but neither did he sound dismissive._ "In the end, she thought she could escape on a stolen hovercraft. She jumped to her death, finished by the very rebels she had begged to save her. There is only one victor. It was not Fife Chican."_

Mags had silently cried, standing stiffly as tears chilled by the biting cold ran down her face. She had been surprised Lucian hadn't insisted so much on the girl's family like he had on Keane's widowed mother, or the now unprovided for siblings of the beautiful Maverick from Ten, who hadn't survived the train wreck. Perhaps it was a form of respect the Capitolite granted the late Game survivors... Mags had been astounded by Lucian's objectivity when speaking for Lila, having expected new anti-rebel accusations. Maybe this was the true quality of scholars: they respected facts.

It would also explain Lucian's characteristic bitterness.

The victor crossed her arms before her and met her dour escort's gaze. "Do you hate interacting with District people that much, or is it the lies that bother you?"

Lucian's eyes narrowed at the personal question. He then sighed and his lips quirked up.

Mags stared, stunned. She'd never seen anything remotely resembling a smile on the Capitolite's face. It was almost disturbing.

The man pulled out a weird-looking black tube and put it to his mouth. "Electronic cigar, I'm trying to quit," he explained, waving the device around. "People can't be trusted, so they're told what they need to know, even when it's a stretch," he said, looking jaded.

_A stretch?_

Mags cleared her throat. "Complete fabrication," she amiably corrected, deciding to test Lucian once and for all.

The escort granted her point, his disillusioned smile broadening. "I appreciate the use of that, but it's unacceptable to restrict data so much that the truth ends up lost. There is nothing more arrogant than fabricating reality to suit one's purposes."

Mags stared at him pointedly, trying not to roll her eyes. _The truth ends up lost?_ Did he think she suffered from amnesia? She waited for him to catch on.

It didn't take him long. "_You_ know the facts," he said, pointing a thin finger at her face. His curled mustache and silver goatee were almost vibrating from sudden interest.

"I will tell you the story, but only if you tell me one first," Mags said, a sense of triumph filling her chest.

This was it. She finally had a bargaining chip with the Capitolite.

"How about I simply not have you executed, Scheherazade?" Lucian said with a smirk, blowing smoke out of his lips.

Mags raised her eyebrows, a little uncomfortable with the threat. She couldn't determine how serious he was. And what had he called her?

"Illiterate peasants," Lucian mumbled, upset the reference was lost on the victor. He set his elbows on the table, turning his piercing mismatched gaze on her. Both eyes, red and blue, seemed to glitter with fierce hunger. "What kind of tale does a fishing district girl want to know about?"

"What you're taught of the districts, and how power works in the Capitol," Mags replied. "I will then tell you of my Games, as factually as possible."

Lucian shrugged. "Fine. Do not interrupt me until the end. I'll allow for a few questions. You may want to take notes," he added with a thin knowing smile, "it's complicated."

Mags kept her eyes down to avoid glaring. He was so patronizing. Still, the suggestion was a good one. She couldn't afford to have him change his mind now.

* * *

"You didn't say the dynamite also destroyed the Citadel," Lucian said, frustration evident in his posture.

"No," Mags admitted, her shoulders tight with tension.

She should have predicted that even a factual retelling of the Games would have been stressful. Luckily Lucian was interested in raw data, numbers and the link between events much more than her state of mind and feelings at the time.

Lucian brought his fist down on the table and leaned forward. "Then what destroyed it?" He exclaimed impatiently. "And why did you omit what you did during your last night in the sewers?"

Mags' lips twitched humorlessly. She wasn't mad enough to mention Cresyl or give the escort reason to suspect she was still a rebel. Lucian now had most of the facts, but not all of them, not nearly, and as long as Mags wanted to live, he never would.

"That information is classified. The President insisted."

Lucian nodded, a gloomy cast to his features. "She's a molder of minds, that one," he said, shaking his head.

Mags couldn't help a flash of satisfaction from crossing her face. Lucian's annoyance at Achlys and her methods was a wonderful surprise.

"Why isn't the train bugged?" She bluntly asked. She was beginning to see that the man loved to impart his knowledge, even if it was just to be recognized as an expert.

Lucian lifted a gloved hand and rubbed his fingers together. "Money," he said with a cynical smile, "and the need for trustworthy skilled craftsmen. Sending hordes of mutts into Three was imbecilic. We've lost a generation in terms of research. Everyone who isn't critical in industry has been ordered to teach part time before we lose even more," his lips expanded into a patronizing smirk. "Don't worry, all the trains will be bugged within ten more years. The phones already are."

Mags swallowed as she struggled not to rise to the bait. The casual mention of Three's elite, a pillar during the Rebellion, slaughtered by the Capitol's engineered monstrosities and mourned like a simple loss of added value made her blood boil.

She took a slow breath. "Why did President Achlys appoint you as an escort? You seem rather… independent."

Lucian snorted. "I don't like her and Madam President doesn't like me," he said, "but she's doing better than anyone else could in her position considering the sad state of affairs. Since my intellect surpasses that of amoebas, I do not partake in activities that would endanger my country. Achlys despises corruption and negligence, not the two of us trading facts. I am neither corrupt nor negligent."

"You're in a bubble now, Victor," Lucian continued, standing up to straighten his ermine c_oif-fur_, "winning the Hunger Games enabled you to see through the propaganda, but that doesn't make you a weak link. Victors are few enough to be handled individually," he took a long drag from his electronic cigar and peered down at her. "You're allowed some freedom because Achlys knows she can snap her fingers and take it from you if she ever suspects you to be a threat to Panem."

Mags crossed her arms protectively around her chest. "It's a lot to take in," she said in low tones, "especially when you have to keep the illusion perfect."

Lucian smiled nastily at her. "You hadn't thought of that before you volunteered?"

Mags bristled, suddenly remembering who she was talking to. The week had been long, but she'd need more to start confiding in Lucian Gemini.

"I liked your speeches. They served their purpose but weren't overdone," she said politely, deciding to end their conversation on a pleasant note.

"They're dead children," Lucian said, his patronizing expression back on, "there's no need to overdo anything."

But Mags could see he was pleased.

She picked up the paper where she had stopped reading and focused on the bold headlines.

_Security: peacekeeper numbers alarm specialists_

Mags arched her eyebrows in appraisal. That sounded good.

_Extra tax on Luxury Goods to fund security expenses. Attractive bonuses for Homeguard accepting a district assignment._

_Recruitment was declared this week a government priority. The number of peaceekeepers remains inferior by a quarter to the country's requirements. District Two can boast of 10 300 trained men and women, One 6 800 and the other districts 2 700. Twenty percent of these men and women are under twenty-two years of age. 14 000 new recruits are been trained at this very moment, including 9000 in District Two alone, but we are far from the ideal 30 000 we need to keep the peace._

_District Two's training schools are reporting much lower enrollment and success rates than before the Dark Days. The amount of men needed in the quarries for the reconstruction effort, the poor learning conditions due to the shortage of teachers, the danger and the comparatively low reward are all factors contributing to the need for drastic measures. _

_Panem requires urgently three thousand peacekeepers to ensure efficient repression of unrest and crime. The Homeguard is 12 000 men strong and until a new generation of peacekeepers is ready to take assignments, we need Capitol citizen to stand up and serve their country. _

The article went on describing the harshness of a peacekeeper's job, how hated they were in the 'barbarous' Districts and how their working conditions would be improved by the Capitol. It was clearly implied that peacekeepers were the only thing that was keeping Panem from sinking into bloodshed. The progressive tax on luxury goods, that would reach 200% for the wealthiest, was presented as a pittance in exchange for a peaceful life. Status and riches were promised to Capitol peacekeepers who agreed to relocate. The list of measures taken to ensure their safety was half a page long.

Mags knew with sinking certainty that the lower class of the Capitol would soon be very visible in the districts' main towns.

Next came a controversial discussion over recruiting a special kind of peaceekepers in Eleven, as the district's population was so large that surely adequate people could be found to keep order without needing to import from the already overtaxed districts One and Two.

A pit formed at the base of Mags' stomach when one of the interviewed specialists voiced the necessity of building infrastructure for training peacekeepers in a third district and suggested District Four.

_Could the peacekeepers be infiltrated, secret rebels ready to revolt? _Mags shivered at the immensity of the task. She loathed the idea of peacekeeper training grounds in her district.

She didn't want to imagine what would happen to a child in Creneis wanting to become a law enforcer. There would be murder.

The victor continued reading and bile rose in her throat as the reported discussion turned to the problem of low population. She couldn't believe her eyes.

_Tisias Elysium - Our family laws are too lax and poorly enforced. The population is rising too slowly to reach satisfactory production rates within twenty-five years. We have been giving one free tesserae equivalent per child for families with three or more children, but it didn't have the desired effects. Adults over thirty five with no children should be severely penalized. We should ban birth control for single or childless adults over thirty. Families with a single child over ten years of age should suffer a penalty as well. I would suggest multiplying the amount of reaping slips by twenty and forbidding those families to take tesserae._

_Charis Sesterce – I believe a global family quota to allow for some celibates would be more efficient. There should be a special regime for peacekeepers to recruit the adults who desire no children. Enforcing a 2.8 average on normal citizen seems reasonable, as long as the incomes guarantee that the children are fed and clothed. We should also include adopted orphans in the count and deliver more medicine to limit infant death and severe childbirth complications. On average, a sixth of children do not reach their tenth birthday in the districts, and it skyrockets to one in three in some regions. I agree with the single child penalties._

Mags' breath slowly exited her lungs when her burning body screamed for air. Was this Charis woman truly their greatest defender in the Capitol? A calculating mind with a modicum of common sense?

Mags had never heard of the free tesserae bonus for numerous families and suspected the news had never reached Creneis. _Poorly implemented indeed_... but it looked like things would change, and for the worse.

_2.8 average._

_Six children between her and Esperanza. Circe. _

The wait for dinner became excruciating as the letters jumbled on the page. Mags' brain had come to a standstill, shocked to see written in print how the Capitol was planning to regulate every aspect of their lives, mindless of their wishes and opinions.

_More medicine for young children_, she told herself, trying to cheer up, but dread numbed her body.

There was nothing they could do to stop the Capitol. Any rebellion was doomed for now, and Achlys was consolidating her power with every passing year.

* * *

Mags shifted and wiped her clammy palms on her blue sash. Stress clawed at her insides, stealing away her ability to think.

The train had stopped. She was to be led to the main square of Parsa, District's One stunning capital, named after Persepolis, the richest city under the sun.

_The city Mags had been born in._

It was not the thought of walking the streets of her childhood that paralyzed her so, but the wait for the man who would escort her to the ceremony.

Demanding of Valerian Fletcher, someone close to Constantine who had allowed him to die and kept her alive despite any feelings he may have harbored, to see her again, to guard her...

It had been maybe the most presumptuous demand she had ever made.

Her breath hitched when she saw the Sergeant and his squad of elite peacekeepers appear. Valerian was as eerily intense as she remembered. He walked with a grace that made every male in Four seem uncoordinated and heavy. The clean-shaven man's set expression and piercing blue eyes seemed to burn through her and down to her soul. She'd only met one person who surpassed Valerian's tangible aura, and that was Evadne Achlys.

"Mags Abalone," Valerian said, holding her gaze as he granted her a curt nod, "follow me. Lieutenant Goldstein will insure Mr. Gemini's safety," he added gesturing to another squad.

They left before the escort could wonder about this breach in protocol, as he and Mags had never been separated in the other districts, but Lucian didn't seem inclined to protest.

As they walked away from the train station and into streets made empty to facilitate her trip to the main square, Mags' heartbeat slowly decreased to normal levels, relaxed by the squad's rhythmic step.

She stopped dead and her breath when she saw the sign marking the entrance in a small but wealthy looking square.

Imperial Square.

_"Peregrine? Imperial Square Inferno Peregrine?" Constantine was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. "You were born in District One? You...your father murdered General Alloy."_

She had no memory of this place and yet her eyes misted over as she forced herself to keep walking. Faint scorch marks still marred some of the stone slabs.

"My aunt bought a tapestry from Jasper Peregrine, a long time ago. It hasn't lost its luster," Valerian said, steering her away from a cluster of refuse collectors behind which a hostile person could have potentially been lurking. His eyes seemed to look everywhere at once, missing nothing.

Mags stood frozen, barely daring to breathe. _How did he know? How much information had powerful peacekeepers access to? What had Constantine's mother found out?_

Valerian's hand hadn't left Mags' side and he reached for something in his uniform jacket. She noticed there were a few yards between the two of them and the nearest peacekeeper. Her heart began to race, her senses heightened by fear. She knew nothing of this man, and he had potentially motive to kill her.

There was nothing she could do to protect herself.

"Cereus Sphene, Constantine's friend, wanted you to have this record," Valerian said, his blue eyes hooded as he passed her a small wrapped package. "It contains the last hour of Fife's and Constantine's camera tracks and the hovercraft's records. Their scarves interfered with the lips reading software, but the hovercraft was equipped with listening devices."

Mags almost dropped the bag.

Questions she had resigned herself never to find the answers to, wounds she had painstakingly tried to patch, memories she had pushed away to spare herself the pain of reminiscing…

Mags clutched the records harder, rendered mute by a surge of desperate hope. Had Fife made Constantine reveal why he had committed suicide in the end? Had he truly died for her or had it been a freak accident? Why had he volunteered? Had Fife truly died hating her?

She hastily tucked the records inside her coat, blessing the designer for having include pockets.

Mags let her arms fall limp by her side and stared at her feet. A new terror seared the young woman's veins and cramped her limbs for she knew how double-edged such a gift could be. Resignation was healthier than vicious disappointment or grief made raw by exposure to the harsh truth.

She tensed when she felt a firm hand between her shoulder blades.

They had reached Byzantium Plaza, where the ceremony would be held. Keeping her half-hidden from the cameras, Valerian steadied her, and for the first time, Mags saw peacekeepers as what they should have been. Protectors of the people. She forced a small smile, aware no sound would exit her lips. She hoped her expression conveyed how much the records meant to her. Her doubts fled. She was happy to have him there.

"There have been whispers of unrest in District Four among our ranks," Valerian had, his tone unnervingly bland. "Has your victory made a difference?"

Mags' thoughts floated back to the Pier of Spirits where Rio and Douglas had been put to rest. She thought of the houses that were almost finished, of the cleaned out desalinizing factory and the first new beams of the academy. She thought of the clean barracks walls, and the lack of incidents with Peacekeepers in the last weeks.

She found her voice. "Yes, it has," Mags whispered, her eyes falling on the crowd behind the low barricade. "Four shouldn't need reinforcements."

"Good," he said with an inscrutable expression.

Mags repressed a shiver, feeling as if Valerian could access her private thoughts with a mere glance. She had been a fool to think Lucian's ghastly stare was uncomfortable. Never had she felt both so protected and so very vulnerable at once.

They finally reached the platform. Thousands of men and women, tens of thousands, were still arriving in the immense square.

"Thank you," Mags said, her voice thick with emotion, "for keeping me safe."

Valerian's lips fleetingly twisted into a grimace, but he soon recovered his solemn demeanor. "We lost many good men and women that day."

"Yes. We'll lose more," Mags said, weariness and distress darkening her features.

They were speaking side by side in soft curt tones, their stiff postures mirroring each other, but Mags wondered if there wasn't more sincerity in this stilted conversation than in any she'd had since she'd left Four.

"We must serve Panem," Valerian said, his piercing eyes embracing the majestic Byzantium Plaza where people were still gathering, "or what is there left?"

Mags nodded absently. "What is Panem?" She mused.

She served her country as fiercely as Achlys did, and yet they could not both triumph.

Valerian gave her a soft smile and Mags could now easily see the man Constantine had seemed to respect so much and not just the Sergeant in uniform.

"Thank you for demanding that I guard you," he said, his expression still warm, "it made things much easier. Constantine always craved to be a hero. I am glad he didn't make a _heroic mistake_ regarding you."

Delivered in such a soft voice tinged with sarcasm and sorrow, Mags feared the compliment would cause her to burst into sobs.

"Which one is Cereus?" Mags whispered, seeking a distraction, her eyes on the assembled people.

Valerian scanned the crowd, his face darkening in concentration.

A rueful smile crossed his thin lips after a long pause. "Cereus is a six-foot-high, blonde, fit young man with short hair, wearing a white shirt, thick black trousers, and a long winter coat. Unless he takes a flag and waves it, I'm afraid we'll never find him."

Mags allowed herself to smile. Hundreds of men fit that description.

"I will thank him for you," Valerian promised, serious once more.

Mags wondered why there could be no such peacekeepers in Creneis. The man was courteous, competent, intelligent and even kind, although she suspected that was out of affection for Constantine and Cereus.

But if elite peacekeeper squads ever came to her town, it would be because pandemonium had erupted.

Mags stood tall and impassive, draped in a coat adorning the Capitol crest for the eleventh time in six days. She learned more than she had ever wanted to about Mirabelle. She would have rather kept her bad opinion of the bloodthirsty volunteer than learn she had trained stray dogs to be perfect competition animals. Stray dogs didn't truly garner her sympathy, but it was enough to physically remind her that each and every death in the Games was a human life snuffed out prematurely.

"Constantine remained an enigma to most who watched the Games," Lucian began. "Son of a wealthy influential man and the former Colonel of South Sector,"

"Former?" Mags breathed, her head snapping towards Valerian. _What had happened?_

"Selene Aquila stepped down and is now a Captain in District Ten. Willingly," Valerian said, his eyes far away. "She is happier than she has been in months. Coraline, Constantine's governess, works for me now. Roy Aquila regretfully passed away," the peacekeeper bowed his head, sorrow tightening his features. "He was an elderly man."

Mags' green eyes had widened in horror. She lowered them to the floor, and brought her hand to her trembling mouth. A profound sadness invaded her, her heart weeping for strangers who had suffered so much from the Games. She mourned, devoid of pain or anguish, simply _aware_ that the tributes were never the only victims.

After a moment, she wiped her tearful eyes and realized she had completely missed the rest of Lucian's last speech. Constantine's death had been interpreted as the result of a cowardly escape during the recaps, but Mags knew that while Constantine had been many things, a coward couldn't be farther from the truth.

Leaving things like this didn't feel right, like abandoning a task unfinished.

Mags' surroundings blurred and all she saw when she took the microphone from her startled escort's grasp was Esperanza, smiling at her trustingly when Mags had promised her that she would be able to visit whichever district she wished when she was older; when they would have won Panem back.

"It's all for the children, isn't it?" Mags began, talking as much to herself as she was to the crowd. "That's what makes the Games so terrible. But when you volunteer, kill, _win,_ it's still for family, for the future. The truth is that Panem is a shattered vase struggling to glue itself back together. Can something broken truly repair itself? Constantine volunteered because something was broken, because victors live outside the fabric of society and -within reason and legality- make their own rules. It's a loophole, a shortcut to something you wouldn't attain by living normally. But the odds…"

_No one could win on their own. Without Fife and Constantine, she would never have reached the Citadel._

Mags' lips twitched into a crooked smile. "It all comes down to compromises. How much is your life worth? How far would you gamble for your children's lives? Casting blame, dreaming of change…" A sigh escape the young woman's lips. "There's just the truth and how you can affect it. Every major action is a compromise, but the future you offer your children, the world you'll leave behind when you die, will be the sum of it all."

The lightheaded victor turned her eyes back on the crowd, feeling very much like a child and marveling at the fact she was alive, in District One, on this very day. "You can't volunteer without that drive. The Games will swallow you whole if you're not animated by something bigger than you."

Constantine had made two incredible gambles. Volunteering and sacrificing himself. Mags would see his faith pay off, and hopefully, wherever he was, he would approve.

"Did you improvise that?" Valerian asked as she backed away.

Mags felt as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown on her face. As her mind cleared she wondered what had possessed her to do that. Nerves and emotional exhaustion could not excuse such outbursts.

"I had promised Mama I would shut up," she said, her face falling. She turned towards Valerian, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "Did that even make sense?"

"Yes," Valerian said, a hint of mirth crinkling his eyes. "It was good. People are tired of weeping."

* * *

**AN: I make a point of writing dialog quickly (in one go, so 5 minutes) when the characters have no time to prepare or are out for their comfort zone. Then I edit it of course, but improvised speeches will never sound improvised if I spend days thinking them up and polishing them. If Mags' last speech seemed fragmented, that's why. I dislike writing speeches more and more as time passes xD I find it rather pompous. But here I had to since I had said she'd made a speech at the end of chapter 24 (the one from Cereus' point of view). **

**Don't hesitate to give constructive criticism.**

**Please review^^.**


	40. Alien

**Thanks for reading and reviewing. A special thank you to TheWomanWhoCodesAndWrites who has now reviewed every single chapter of this fic and the outtakes.**

**Enjoy^^.**

* * *

_Date: Year 10, February. Six months after Mags' victory._

Lucian glared through his huge horned glasses as he all but shoved Mags up the train.

The victor fought the urge to slap his hand away. What a rude man.

"I should've known that the week had gone too smoothly to end well," Lucian said, leaving his coat on the floor for an avox to pick up. "And what are you plotting with that man? Planning to elope with a handsome powerful soldier?" He asked with a sneer, sarcasm lacing his accented voice.

A wan smile drew itself on Mags' lips. The idea of dating Valerian was so terrifying that it would never have occurred to her, even had there not been a decade separating the two of them. The man had protected her, but he also made her feel utterly at his mercy, and she knew it was no mere impression.

"He was telling me to make sure district Four wouldn't need extra peacekeepers. He heard there has been unrest," she replied after a pause.

The records were a lead weight against her chest, and she ached to rush towards the television and satisfy her burning curiosity. Instead, Mags struggled to remain composed, aware she would have to wait until the end of the tour, where prying eyes could not surprise her.

Mindless of Lucian, who had abruptly stopped just beyond the compartment door, Mags hastily entered the wagon, with the intent of hurrying to her small room to remove her coat. She figured the records were small enough to hold in her bra if she compensated by filling the other cup a little.

She winced, dismayed she had reached the stage where she would be hiding things in her bra. _A great rebel indeed_… Marlin would be howling in laughter.

A muffled shout escaped her lips as a voice unexpectedly reached her from her side. Mags spun towards the source in fear, her hand clutching her hammering heart, only to see a familiar face.

"You said you'd write," Vicuña said, tapping her fingers on the armrest.

Mags lowered her arm, exasperation supplanting her shock. She hated being startled.

The Career was sitting comfortably in the nearest of the two armchairs in a woolen cream dress that covered her arms but stopped well above her knees, her left leg was swinging lazily over the right one revealing varnished stilettos.

"Hello, Vicuña," Mags said with a small smile, wondering how someone could walk in such shoes. She'd never seen any like them in Creneis.

Her smile broadened slightly as she realized Lucian hadn't yet dared enter the room. Vicuña was broader than the escort, but in that dress, she looked more like a rich lady with too much muscle than a threatening killer. Maybe Capitolites were not so blinded by appearances after all… And yet Vicuña was hallowed in the Capitol, the President's protégée. Why was Lucian so afraid?

Vicuña didn't return the smile. She was staring at Mags expectantly, a reproachful cast to her features.

"My sister got kidnapped because I told people to stop throwing rocks at peacekeepers. Things have been hectic," Mags said, her expression unapologetic, "you could have written too," she then pointed out.

In truth she had completely forgotten she could have written to the other victors.

Vicuña's blue eyes were wide in shock as dismay spread all over her face. Her hand flew to her mouth. Mags noticed the blonde's nails were bitten to the quick.

"Gods, Is she alright?" Vicuña asked after an awkward pause.

"Yes, yes," Mags said. Her lips then formed a thin annoyed line. Esperanza would be angry if she didn't ask. "My sister wants someone to teach her hand to hand combat," she said, less than enthused by the idea.

Vicuña's lips bloomed into a wide grin. "Me?" She said, standing up. Her shoulders shook slightly from mirth. "You thought of _me_?"

"An insane friend of mine did," Mags corrected, inwardly sparing Glynn a glare.

Still, she missed the dynamic girl and her sharp practical counsel. Glynn had kept in contact, sending brief letters since she'd left on the Swamp Fox. All had apparently been going well, she'd drawn her maps and spread the word about the new academy, with success and keeping things vague enough to Mags' liking, but it had been months and Glynn wouldn't be back for weeks.

Vicuña chuckled again. "Take any peacekeeper," she said, raising her eyes skywards. "They all know all the basics. I wish I could and I'm flattered, but I can only go to the Capitol or One."

_A peacekeeper? _Mags lips curled, unconvinced. Then her eyebrows shot up.

_Marquise?_

She snorted lightly. That woman hated to get sweaty unless there was a shower close by, and had moaned countless time that the _paltry makeup_ sold in Creneis didn't hold during effort, using it as an excuse to dump her duties on the others, mainly Alaric, who didn't seem to be able to refuse.

Maybe if Mags bought Marquise expensive waterproof Capitol makeup in exchange…

The victor had to admit she wasn't so hot about Esperanza learning deadly martial arts and had therefore not thought too hard about how to make it happen before today. Her fiery little sister got into enough fights as it were, and it was better if those remained shouting matches.

Mags' face darkened. Even Marquise was a risk. There were too many things Esperanza could distractedly let slip.

"While you're pondering that, I have to say I loved the speech. It might just give us volunteers with the right spirit."

Mags' slowly turned her eyes back towards Vicuña. Her mind was empty, as if a gale had swept everything away, leaving only dull echo and lingering frost. _Volunteers with the right spirit?_ Something shattered inside her.

Was that what she had said? Was that what people had heard? She hadn't meant…

Her horror was so tangible that Vicuña's smile withered and died.

"Volunteers are better than -" the broad-shouldered woman began, biting her lip.

"All those future corpses I'll mentor…" Mags cut in, her voice tight with rage as she turned towards the window, her back to Vicuña. She didn't want her to see her face.

There was no _better_, not in the Hunger Games. Her speech had been for the others, those with a real chance at life. The Games shouldn't be a focal point of people's lives, they should be like hailstorms and flash floods, devastating events that did not discriminate. Just like the evil at the head of the Capitol, inevitable until a solution was found, but never, _never_, should the Hunger Games be given more than token importance in the minds of the citizen it wanted to ensnare in its web of fear.

Mags dropped her blazing green eyes to the ground, aware she was being pathetically naïve, and yet hating the ease with which Achlys and her cohorts had invaded their nights, replacing the dreams of better days with nightmares of the impeding Games.

The silence stretched out into an awkward pause, until Vicuña cleared her throat.

"Talk to the other tributes," she said in soft compassionate tones, "that way you'll not see just your own too, you'll see many deserve to win and hopefully, the victor will also hold your affection. If you talk to many, the risk of getting attached is a lesser on. You avoided me like the plague, but I remember Styx, Jason and Delphin as much as One's volunteers."

_I remember them too_, Mags wanted to snarl, her simmering rage exploding in flames as indignation and contempt warred inside her.

_Circe, I remember them!_

They had all died again before her eyes on the giant screens, one by one. It infuriated her to see Vicuña worried about _her_, rather than for the innocents torn from their families that would stain the ground of a foreign arena with their blood for the amusement of the Capitol, and a disgustingly increasing number of district dwellers.

A _show_.

Rather than see the tributes as children, even some of her own people had decided it was better to turn off their empathy and enjoy the thrill and violence rather than be beaten down by the sight of death.

She wouldn't do more than was necessary by her tributes, but she wouldn't pretend they were not people. She'd rather mourn. She'd rather be miserable. She'd rather be _human_.

"Can we talk about something that's not the Games?" Mags said, biting back harsher words as she turned back towards the other victor. "What will you be doing in the Capitol?" she asked, infusing her voice with forced cheer.

She wasn't sure what to expect from the blonde. She didn't want an enemy and Vicuña wanted one even less than she did, but Mags couldn't afford to grow close with the misguided Career. She found that she didn't even want to.

"Evadne wants me to meet some Homeguard peacekeepers," Vicuña revealed, picking pieces of fluff off her dress.

Mags flinched. She'd forgotten the other used the President's first name. It was just as eerie as the first time.

Vicuña shrugged, oblivious to Mags' discomfort. "She hasn't said why."

Mags eyes flickered to the newspaper neatly folded on the table. She suspected why. She envied Vicuña for being curious at the prospect of meeting Achlys rather than afraid. Already, she had lost her appetite and her insides churned with an anguished that even the best medication couldn't erase.

* * *

The door was ajar. Mags found herself straining her ears to listen.

Vicuña had been all but swept away by a man she evidently knew quite well and Lucian disappeared. Mags had been left alone with orders to change and meet with the President as soon as possible. The order had been phrased quite amiably, but Mags' insides were clenched in a seamless ball of stress.

"Do not test my patience Mr. Valens," Achlys was saying, indulgence in her effortlessly vibrant voice rather than anger. "Whatever your prime intention was is a moot point. You should be honored that we found a productive goal to your eccentric pastimes."

"My apologies, Madam President, I was unprepared to such attention and reacted poorly. I will do my best to present you with comprehensive analyses."

His voice was low and smooth, but had something to it that made Mags want to shush the air for being too loud so she could hear better.

"Syrianus, you are twenty-six," Achlys replied, and Mags could hear the smile in her tone. "Young men your age are notoriously useless, at best they are studying hard enough to be one day productive. You should feel proud to have your intelligence recognized while not yet a doctor and it is unhealthy for you to be so antisocial. One of modest means such as you cannot afford not to network."

Twenty-six and _notoriously useless?_ Mags furrowed her brow, bewildered. Most people in Four were married with a child, sometimes two, at twenty-six. A student… Were people children forever in the Capitol?

The President's voice rose. "You can come in, Mags. Mr. Valens and I are done."

Mags swallowed, heat rushing to her cheeks. She inhaled deeply, hoping to erase the guilt off her face before Achlys would see her. Had she been that obvious?

"Madam President," the man inside said in stiff deference.

His metal-lined shoes rang hollowly on the marble floor as he walked towards the door.

Mags had discretely stepped back, trying not to stare too unabashedly.

Valen's skin was olive and his hair dark, falling naturally down to his neck. His traits were too strong to be handsome, but just enough out of symmetry to be interesting and warrant a second glance, and surprisingly natural. His clothes were quite sober even if the fabric looked smooth, and Mags started to wonder if he was not from the Districts despite his very Capitol name. She lowered her eyes slightly and immediately revised her judgment. No one could have mistaken the lithe young man for a district dweller now: the back of his hands shimmered with a metallic blue substance and his hands themselves showed he'd never done a hard day's work.

Mags wasn't close enough to see if it was a single elaborate tattoo or a diffuse glow. It also covered all the exposed part of his wrists. Mags wracked her mind for memories of her evening at the zoo. Preoccupied by her health, she hadn't paid so much attention to people. She didn't think it so improbable that those of lesser means, who had no contact with tributes, would look much less alien, unless they wanted to appear wealthier than they were.

Her efforts at keeping an innocent expression were rendered useless when Valens turned piercing dark eyes towards her. He knew she had overheard, and he wasn't happy. At least he didn't look at her with the contempt Lucian had accustomed her to.

She granted him a tight smile. He wasn't the only one who had to bow to Achlys. He surprised her by shooting a resigned look towards the office, as if to say _We can't do much about it._

"Mags, come in." The President didn't seem too happy at having to repeat herself.

Mags hurried inside. A chill ran up her spine when she saw the white haired-woman again. Her mind told her Achlys was in her fifties but her eyes refused to accept it. Her skin was too smooth, her bearing too proud. She looked inhuman, immortal, with a fire to her golden eyes that threatened to consume any that would come too close. Mags' had to force herself to keep walking towards the table, as if she'd been pushed in a cage holding a lethal predator.

"I've decided to change your schedule in Four," Achlys began, "you cannot hope to wait until you have secured Creneis Town to start putting order in the rest of the District. It is time you speak to them all, in Lycorias, in the the three other towns and in the villages."

Mags couldn't hide a wince. The villages? In winter? She wouldn't be home for a month.

The President noticed and granted her a small smile. "Just six villages, the others are close enough to towns or other villages you are already visiting to spare you the trip. The people will come themselves. You will be in Creneis in two weeks."

Mags nodded, relieved. She would have needed to make the trip anyway, but it bothered her to do this during the Tour, because it affiliated her with the Capitol even more. _Putting order._ She had just wanted to build an academy...

"May I bring my mother with me, Ma'am? She really helps me with public speeches and everything," she said, hoping she didn't sound too desperate.

Would Lucian be accompanying her? The mere thought was depressing.

Achlys blinked. "If you wish," she said, "but just her. I'm sure the Corduroys' house is large enough to host your sister until you return, and I'll try to forget who you're dating."

Mags swallowed, a neon red light going on in her brain. "He's hot, Ma'am, and he does really everything I tell him to," she said candidly, deciding it was better Achlys think her shallow than really start investigating Kyle. _What else had the peacekeepers told the woman?_ She thought frantically, sweat pearling on her brow.

"I know many remarkable people that dated stupidly at your age. As long as he doesn't cause trouble," Achlys said, waving her hand unconcerned.

Mags cracked a smile. She should have been offended to have the President dismiss Kyle like this, but for once, the woman really sounded like some fifty-year-old grandmother instead of a ruthless chessmaster preparing her next move. She almost sighed in relief at the knowledge Kyle wouldn't suffer.

"Why is Lucian an escort, Ma'am?" She said, knowing by now that the President did not dislike questions. "He's no rebel of course, but he doesn't seem very... patriotic."

Achlys smiled. "That man is an arse," she said bluntly, causing Mags' jaw to drop slightly.

"But," she continued brightly, her long ruby earrings spinning hypnotically as she moved towards the large window, "his eulogies are excellent, they cause no unrest. Escorts rarely appreciate the subtleties of crowd control." Her eyes crinkled knowingly. "And I'm sure he delighted you with his knowledge of history whenever he deigned speak to you."

"That was interesting, yes," Mags said cautiously, realizing with a jolt that for a moment she had actually found Evadne Achlys fun, almost _approachable_. It was a horrifying thought.

The President seemed to sense her discomfort because her small content half-smile was back on her face.

"You'll have an interview tonight, another tomorrow at three, before you leave for Lycorias, nothing you haven't done before," she said, somehow turning soft words into orders one wouldn't even_ think_ of disobeying, "Myia Starr is waiting for you in your quarters. She will be your aide here." Achlys pursed her lips, as if she wasn't too happy to continue talking. "Make sure she keeps to the schedule, you're the one with authority over her, she can be… distracted."

Mags found herself nodding again. She wondered with no small measure of apprehension which whimsical Capitolite had been granted the privilege of babysitting her if even Achlys was skeptical.

The young woman dearly hoped Myia would see it as a privilege. A second Lucian would have her clandestinely fleeing on the first train into the Districts.

* * *

The door to her quarters was unlocked. Mags gingerly grasped the handle.

"Oh sorry," a startled voice exclaimed. "I invited myself in, I didn't mean to be presumptuous."

Mags forced the heavy door open, and almost walked into a glittering golden shape.

The first thing she saw was a mane of azure hair that sparkled like sun-kissed sea. Mags instinctively reached out to touch them, half expecting to feel water. She caught herself just in time and stepped back.

A thin woman, almost too thin, but fresh faced, with perfect creamy skin and those impossible azure hair tied in long bows above her head with spun silver jewelry and let free to tumble down to her hips, stood before her.

Mags eyes roamed over her face, her mind forgetting to remind her that this was a human being with feelings, too fascinated by what to her was book character brought to life.

Thick eyelashes, purple eyes, and comely regular features that reminded her of the princesses little girls tried to draw. Her golden sleeveless dress reached the floor, rippling as if made of a thousand small coins. Everything about the woman screamed fake, but it was a pretty fake, a childish fake that made Mags almost wish to protect the one who had to be Myia and shield her from the harsh realities of the world.

Playful dolphins were tattooed into a bracelet around her right upper arm.

"You like the sea," Mags said with a ghost of a smile, realizing she had been staring for much too long.

Myia smiled through her now self-conscious blush, revealing perfect teeth. "I sometimes regret not having been born in Four. I go there every holiday, but living there, being a real sailor, facing rough seas and everything… It must be incredible."

Mags raised her eyebrows in polite interest. She knew thanks to Riviero Gibbs of the village for Capitolites on vacation. She had talked at length with the old sailor after the kidnapping. She'd at first gone to him to show she held no grudge, but she'd soon realized he was quite a jolly and interesting man. There was a 'resort' near one of the most beautiful sand beaches, fifty miles off Lycorias. The men and women from Four who worked there were professional actors in all but name and greatly outnumbered by avoxes. Sailors could fish those seas, but were not allowed within two hundred yards of the beach. Everything was done to avoid Capitolites mingling with the locals.

Mags wanted to tell Myia that she'd have to cut her hair and put at least twenty pounds of muscle on to be able to hold the ropes that held the veils. That such work would ruin her pretty hands and dig hard lines in her baby face. Instead, Mags nodded, wondering how a woman like that had ended up being her keeper. Myia looked her age, but with Capitolites it was very hard to tell.

"The sea steals you away and never truly gives you back," Mags said, affecting an ominous voice as she was unable to suppress a surge of pride at knowing this woman would never truly _know._

Myia's open face was alight with awe and Mags didn't know whether to sigh or smile.

She clapped her hands together. They'd stood idle long enough and despite the meds, she itched to go outside.

"What do you do when you have two free hours, Myia?"

Mags didn't dare to mention Plutarch yet. She sometimes felt she was being too paranoid regarding Achlys, but were she to misstep, she would be given no second chance.

Myia furrowed her thin painted eyebrows. "Don't you have to prepare for tonight's interview?"

"I'm done," Mags said, "ten minutes or two hours, I'll always look like a peasant compared to you."

"We can't have that," the woman said crossly, grasping Mags' shoulder and as her eyes roamed over her body. "You're so pretty, you could be beautiful. District's Four stylist can't be too far."

"Please don't," Mags said, hastily, not wanting to be prodded at for the next hours, or ever again for that matter. "August is a credit to his profession, but I'd rather not try to be what I'm not."

"That's wise." Myia said, suddenly looking older. She then smiled, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "You're wearing your gilet wrong."

Mags took a second to realize her gilet was the odd light jacket that had been left on the bed for her to wear when she'd arrived.

"It's inside out," Myia supplied with a nervous giggle, as if mortified to have to point it out.

Mags double checked, confused. "The stitches are on the inside."

"They shouldn't be. It's fashionable for them to show on such clothing."

Mags stared at the taller woman blankly before giving her a small nod. She didn't even pretend to want to try to understand it.

"You look amazing yourself," the victor said, desiring to know more about Myia, if only for her own self-preservation, "if you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"

Myia straightened, eyeing Mags suspiciously, as if she'd committed a social blunder. "Thirty-one, nosy girl," she said, defensiveness entering her tone.

_No way. Circe, these people sent all her marks to hell. _It wasn't just the looks, Myia didn't _sound_ thirty-one. Thirty-one was adult and responsible. It was having a job and worrying about sending your children to school with a full stomach. It was a lined face and wrinkled hands, and anyone as thin as Myia would look breakable and worn, not like… _this_.

"You don't look a day over twenty," she said, causing Myia to beam, "so what do you do when you have two free hours, Myia?"

"Me?" The azure-haired woman let slide her large crocodile-skin handbag down to the crook of her elbow. "I go shopping," she said brightly.

Mags frowned at the unfamiliar word. "Shopping?"

The Capitolite looked at her as if she was an alien. "Go to see the shops, what they sell and buy. You fool around, try new things, laugh with friends, and try not to buy too much." A crooked smile split her full lips. "My house is already much too full. I must have a roomful of shoes and outrageous lingerie I will never wear. _Lingerie_ is underwear," Myia said mischievously with a wink.

Mags felt like an alien.

In Creneis, the shops for clothes and shoes, which numbered two, had very little to offer. About once a month a train-full of wares were sent over, with maybe a half dozen different type of clothes that came in five different sizes. Everyone dressed similarly, and those who cared about appearance could buy, or make, dyes, or use their old clothes to modify the new ones. Most quality clothes lasted a couple of years and the cheap uniforms barely a season. Men went bare-chested in the summer, their skin grown tough from constant sun exposure, and women wore long simple dresses or men's clothes. Children were the hardest to outfit, because there were few adapted clothes sold so adult clothes had to be fixed to fit. Luckily both the shop owners and their families were great weavers and could mend almost anything.

Variety in shoes and _underwear_, was something Mags was discovering only now. Even during her time as a tribute in the Capitol, her small clothes had been the simple, invisible kind that didn't get in the way.

Shopping... It sounded quite harmless. _Why not?_

"Let's go then," she said, causing Myia to almost bounce in delight. "How did you get the job?" Mags added, deciding to be friendly. There was no reason for her to put unnecessary distance between herself and the woman.

"I worked up the courage to ask Evadne when I hear she needed someone," Myia said, with a self-satisfied smile. "She's always so busy, but she had time for us when we were kids, now I miss her. She's working so hard, I really want to make her proud."

_When we were kids? _Suddenly the luxurious room felt chilled.

"You're related to her?" Mags asked, locking her muscles in place to hide her apprehension behind a smile.

"I'm her niece, her elder sister's daughter. Uncle Lucius, that's her husband, he's the handsome old man who walks with a silver cane and he's the one who convinced her to give me this chance," she said with a delighted grateful smile. Her smile fell. "Aunt Evadne was a Captain in the Homeguard, you know, and then the war happened, and she lost so much, but instead of breaking, she knew she had to make things better. That's when she went into politics. She's brilliant, don't you think?"

"She's quite remarkable. Panem wouldn't be the same without her," Mags said, choosing her words carefully. As she spoke, she realized she was being stupid with her double edged remarks. "Yes she's brilliant," she said with a bright grin.

Myia whole face lit up and she slipped her arm into Mags as if they were long time friends. Mags smiled back, wishing the tension out of her limbs.

Maybe her _aide_ was not sharpest sword in the Capitol, but she was utterly devoted to Achlys. _Fantastic..._ Mags would have to be extra careful.

* * *

**Author's note: Transitional chapters tend to be slower and full of information, but it reflects the reality of it for Mags. In Creneis she can act and be productive, in the Capitol she's forced to work within a set timetable and all her relationships are much more tense. I'll spare you the shopping session.**

**Please review^^. We'll be back in Four next chapter. By sheer curiosity, who are your favorite characters here? If everyone could name two to four to give me an idea. **


	41. Two-sided coin

**Thank you so much for reviewing. Read on and enjoy.**

* * *

_Date: Year 10, February. Six months after Mags' victory._

"What are you, seventy?" Myia said with a laugh. "Or are those dietary supplements?"

Mags sighed softly as she contemplated the cocktail of pills she had to take every day. And this was just the midday mix... Doctor Alexanders had come in the early morning to collect a blood supply to do the first full follow up. She hoped the lack of relapses was a good sign.

"No, real meds," she said, shrugging it off, "I have a fussy immune system."

"You should be fine," Myia said as she took advantage of the mirror to rearrange her hair. She chuckled, putting a hand on the victor's upper arm. "You're taking enough to boost an army." She then frowned, concern darkening her face. "What is the life expectancy in Four?"

Mags bit her lip, taken by surprise. "I don't know. Barring accidents, people make plans until fifty. Few people reach sixty-five."

Myia winced, wrapping her arms around her slight chest. "How old is your mother?" She said, alarmed.

"Forty-two, but she has access to good healthcare now, don't worry about me," Mags said, bewildered by the woman's shock. It was rather sweet.

"Just forty-two? and you're eighteen? Oh dear, now I feel old," Myia said with a nervous giggle, "I can't imagine getting married, or having children so soon. It's such a big thing, so much responsibility..."

Mags bit back a chuckle. She wasn't surprised. Her late shopping session had shown her that Myia was very far from the norm. Fashion was feathers of all kinds, massive breasts and those horrible coif-furs, which were also belt-furs, and shoulder-furs in many cases. Myia was stunning but out of place, frozen in fairy-tale immaturity while the others paraded like predators ready to strike. A rude elderly woman had actually shoved her way through the crowd with a peacock wheel sprouting from her lower back.

Mags turned towards the bathroom window, admiring the cloudless sky. "Since we're early, can we walk to the station?" She asked. "It's a beautiful day."

She couldn't wait to be back in Four. Here shadows turned to threats and every unexpected noise made her tense. Her agitation would eventually be noticed and people would wonder what she had to hide. She sometimes felt as if there was _suspicious_ branded in bold letters on her face every time she spoke to a Capitolite.

Myia gave her a quizzical glance before grinning ruefully. "Of course. The exercise will do me good."

She turned back to Mags as she finished tying the laces of her bright shawl. "Doesn't it bother you, all these questions on rebels? I mean, when it's starts being about a whole town, it's really like they were insulting the Districts and not just a few terrorists."

Mags' eyes widened as she finished zipping up her new red fox fur-coat, surprised by how thoughtful the question was. For the first time, she glimpsed the woman behind the juvenile appearance.

"Yes, it does," the victor admitted, "but I'm not surprised they feel the need to know. What else is there to ask me during interviews? The Games, the deaths? That would be crude," and any debate on the validity on the Hunger Games was evidently taboo. "People want to know they are safe, but as I told them, they mistake unrest caused by poor uneducated people with ideological rebellion or seeds of an armed uprising. I am sure the very rich have to be wary of crime in the Capitol streets too," she finished with a shrug.

She was very skeptical about her influence in the Capitol. The citizen of the fortress city, even those who held no strong animosity against the Districts, believed the poor deserved it and that those with merit would succeed like they deserved to. There was little room to act in.

Myia acknowledged her words by inclining her head. "Crooks and thieves thrive here. People like to gamble and drink, and when they're vulnerable..." Her creamy skin flushed with sudden anger, "I never drink, it makes people foul and dull, but also my evenings rather lonely," she said sadly.

Mags squeezed the other's arm. "Use a flashlight to signal all the other lonely people through your windows," she said brightly, "you might find enough to host an alcohol free party of your own."

The slender woman laughed, her shimmering hair making ripples. "Oh, don't I lack imagination," she plaintively said, her long lashes fluttering as she contemplated the idea.

If Mags had believed in fairies, they would have been like Myia. Mags had to take a picture of the woman, or Esperanza would never believe her.

"Hear that?" Myia asked.

Mags brought her focus back on the mostly deserted street. A soft rumble reached her ears, high-pitched jumbled sounds echoed against the tall buildings, dissolving in the clean winter air. Mags first thought her sense of orientation had left her and they were somehow back at the zoo. She smiled ruefully when the rising clamor left no room for doubt.

"Recess," Myia confirmed with a tender sigh, "that's Ursa Minor, the most expensive preschool in the city. I attended there many years ago."

_Of course she had._ Behind a tall metal fence, dozens of bustling children made circles, rolling huge colored balls to each other and chanting dissonant limericks.

"They're so cute," the woman gushed.

Mags' lips had parted in dismay. After seeing how pronounced gender differentiation was in the Capitol, she had imagined vain little girls with princess makeup and tough little boys zooming around dressed as their favorite fictional heroes and fooling around with elaborate toys. Reality was much different.

"They're so _fat_," she whispered. Plutarch was robust, almost intimidating for his age, and Mags had thought he would have towered over the other children. She had been completely mistaken. Less than a handful would fit in the children clothes sold in Creneis.

Myia frowned in annoyance. "They're kids, of course they're fat," she said, defensiveness creeping into her tone, "Kids are hungry. They'll start minding when they grow up and at sixteen they'll receive or work to pay for the alterations they want. Most girls start using dis-appetizers at eight or ten to regulate their weight but before, they're just kids. It's normal to be chubby at that age.

"Why don't they eat less?" Mags said. She couldn't comprehend how the Capitol had managed to make a simple thing so complicated. _Dis-appetizers?_

"Don't be cruel," Myia chided, "the food is there, in the fridge, on the table. They see their parents eat but aren't given the anti-assimilation pills, so what looks a normal amount to them makes them gain weight. As long as they're not morbidly obese, there's no danger. They'll have all the time to worry about their appearance later in life. Let them live," she said, smiling once more at the playing children.

Her smile fell slightly as Mags didn't reply. "I guess they're not taught restraint enough, but..." Myia sighed. "You're so lucky it's so easy for you to keep slim and healthy in the districts."

Mags small smile froze on her lips. She felt the urge to step away from Myia, as if stupidity was suddenly contagious.

"You have no idea how much pressure we're under to be young and attractive. Alterations are permanent and yet people expect you to change all the time or they call you boring," Myia continued, weariness entering her chiming voice. "You have to find who you are and not care about their opinions."

"I'm sorry, it must be very hard for you," Mags said, almost choking in an effort to bite back a vicious onslaught of sarcasm.

_How had these people won the war?_

* * *

"Security check!"

Mags felt a laugh escape her lips unbidden as she stepped out on District's Four windswept North-Western outpost station. It was great to be home.

"I'm clean, Marquise," she said brightly, her smile broadening as she locked eyes with her mother.

"How did you get the gorgeous fur? You rotten person," Marquise said, her voice thick with envy, "I can't believe it just took them six months to turn you in a high-rolling consumerist. What's in there?" Marquise said shrewdly, pointing at her slightly _enhanced_ breasts.

"The second interview had an audience. I asked for whatever all those busty women were having," Mags deadpanned, "I also went shopping and bought a couple of cool bras."

The records were cold against her bare skin.

Marquise whistled. "_Hot_, Kyle's going to be so very hap-py," she sang. The young peacekeeper cleared her throat when she remembered Angelites was standing nearby and now glaring slightly at her.

"What's in there?" Alaric said, much more professional as he pointed at her large suitcase.

"Presents," Mags said with a grin. Shopping for others had been twice the fun trying things on had been.

Marquise squealed. "You darling! Which one is mine?"

Mags laughed. "Let's get settled first. Where are we heading to?" She said, walking up to her mother. She embraced the woman, pausing to inhale the familiar perfume. "Hi, Mama," she whispered.

"Orithyia," Marquise supplied. "I'll finally be able to spend some of my pay. Do you think I should buy a pearl necklace or earrings, Alaric?" She said, as if pondering a hard choice. She suddenly nodded. "Yeah, a necklace would make me look like my mother. Earrings."

Alaric blinked, clearly wondering how his clueless expression had influenced the choice.

Mags suspected the man of having a soft spot for the extravagant blonde, because he was the only one who put up with her whims without complaining. Patrol Leader Ajax called her to order twice a day, Legend ignored her and the masculine Indra often glared at Marquise as if she cast indelible shame on the peacekeeper profession.

Orithyia, six thousand citizen strong and the wealthiest town in Four, surpassing Lycorias by far. The calmest, cleanest, richest seas and pearl farms that didn't end.

Mags smiled in anticipation.

* * *

"What's bothering you, Mama?"

The dark-haired woman removed her hand from her forehead. "They warned me about the change in schedule yesterday. I was in such a rush that I left all the accounting to Kyle without making a double," she said, "I still have the bulk ledger but..."

"You don't trust him to do the job properly?" Mags said, a little put out. Kyle had yet to fail them. She missed his reassuring smile, the one that said _you'll succeed, don't worry,_ his easy temperament and the feel of his arms around her waist.

"It's his aunt I don't trust. Your boyfriend becomes a kitten when she's around, as if he's terrified to upset her. I've tried to talk to her, but she's as slippery as an eel," her lips tightened in a thin line, "and she is obsessed about money."

Mags crossed her arms, upset. She was dating Kyle, not Narissa, but the idea of her boyfriend's family being a liability made her queasy. Kyle disliked confrontations and steered away from upsetting subjects, but that's also what made him so relaxing. He focused on the little mundane things and made her laugh. Mags felt like a normal girl when she dated him.

"About money," Angelites suddenly said, her pinched expression replaced by delight, "Esperanza had her first boyfriend."

"No," Mags exclaimed. "Who?" She frowned. "Had? It's over? _Already_?" It had been barely a week!

"Some boy at school. Kai? Cay?" Angelites grinned. "She told him that she'd go out with him, she kissed him, then she said that she'd not give him any money and they'd not come to her house for at least two months because she didn't want gold-diggers."

Mags chuckled. "And?"

"And he declared she was weird and stomped off. Esperanza is certain he'll come back in a few days. She seems pretty willing, with that condescending fondness girls her age reserve for their suitors," Angelites laughed. "It won't last a month, but I don't want to miss it. You were too serious to be fun at that age, but Esperanza will break hearts."

"_Hey_," Mags protested. "I wasn't too serious, it's the boys who weren't interesting enough."

Her mother laughed again. She tucked one of Mags' stray locks behind her ear, her smile slowly fading. "How was it?" She whispered.

"Bearable. I learned some history from Lucian." Mags' voice dropped. "I have records in my bra, can you keep them for me? It's on my Games and I haven't watched them yet. Valerian, the peacekeeper officer who escorted us out of the sewers, gave them to me in Persa."

Angelites pulled back from her daughter, alarm tensing her whole body. "What was that man doing there, on a simple escort mission?"

"I asked for him," Mags said, putting a reassuring hand on her mother's arm.

"You -" Angelites abruptly stood up, her eyes wide in horror, "Tonta! Nunca Piensas! What a stupid risk to take! What were you thinking, Mags?"

"Mama -" Mags began, startled by the woman's vehemence. _You don't think._ It hurt even if a part of her acknowledged it was true.

"No, Mags," her mother exclaimed. "You can't afford to do things like that. It doesn't matter if nine out of ten of the decisions you make on instinct are good ones. It just takes one mistake for everything to crumble." Angelites' voice softened, she cupped her daughter's face in her hands. "If it was so easy, Panem would already be a world of fairness and joy. Good intentions abound." She sighed, guilt flitting over her features, "I'm sorry I let you do this."

"Don't say that, Mama," Mags cut in. Volunteering was not a decision to regret. Regretting was giving up.

"I'm sorry that you suffer, Preciosa." Angelites' full lips bloomed into a sad loving smile. "I believe in you. Like your friend said, I _know_ that I gave birth to a hero. I just wish you could be both that and happy." A rueful chuckle escaped her lips. "Now fish that thing out of your bra," she said, upturning the palm of her hand.

Mags awkwardly fumbled with her clothes under her mother's increasingly amused stare.

* * *

The days had began to blur. They'd left the peaceful Orithyia with its symmetrical white-washed block houses, narrow streets and well-kept farms for a succession of similar fishing districts where Mags repeated the speeches she had learned by heart. She tried hard to see how the population responded and what she could realistically do to adapt to their needs. The days left her drained but hopeful, for despite some hostility, most people had listened and word was spreading.

On the sixth morning, Mags had reached Galene, the third, and last, of the major towns in district Four. Galene had been messier, louder and with a visible split between a small elite and the mass of poor._ Very_ poor. Even the villagers had looked better off. More peacekeepers patrolled the streets, and people clutched the wares they carried close to them, as if they didn't feel safe. Marquise removed her new earrings discretely, a frown marring her brow.

The air itself sizzled with something that made Mags itch for a scarf to protect her exposed face. She blinked grit out of her eyes.

The mayor had been very polite. Too polite. He'd told her nothing of value. Mags had asked Marquise and Alaric to talk to the local peacekeepers, hoping they'd speak more freely than the mayor. She had been right but there was little to rejoice in.

Food production or processing was minimal in Galene, which made it an exception in Four. Instead, small dams shaped the coastline, bringing the sea water into huge complexes and offering a haven to the algae to be later shipped to the Capitol's medical laboratories. Magnesium chloride solutions, enriched saline, rare clays, everything the health and beauty sectors of the Capitol industry, the only sectors of Capitol industry, barring entertainment, could need. The less fortunate worked in the huge glass factory that gorged on sand and left devastated beaches in its wake.

Mags could see the furnaces from the crowded beach. They were a gray blur, surrounded by shimmering heat waves.

_This is where Four's peacekeepers will come from_, she remembered thinking, as a woman with horrendous burns had quickly stepped out of their way.

In Galene there was no housing problem despite the abundantly obvious large families. The death toll had taken care of it. Mags had thought it a sick joke, unable to believe her ears when Alaric had related the numbers. Nine hundred and twenty dead from work accidents in ten years. Almost two a week. The frequency of accidents had dropped by half in the last couple of years, but it seemed to Mags that it was only because the clumsy or weak had all been culled out.

This couldn't go on.

A plan began forming in her mind. Peacekeepers in Four would be inevitable if the Capitol truly wished it, but their rulers would implement district-wide policies, and create an unrest that neither they nor Four could afford. If they targeted only Galene at first, and offered work protections and advantages for the families who enrolled a child...

Mags still had to let the idea mature, because it sounded a little too much like selling children to her, but if nothing was done, all five thousand citizen would remain just as poor, sustaining horrific injuries and risking their lives every day. Mags knew the Capitol would find people from the villages and force them to work where man-strength was needed if Galene could not make up for the losses quickly enough.

She turned to her mother, who seemed find this just as disturbing as she did.

"There is a problem in this town. I've been here very little but I can already taste it. Galene is... Something needs to be done," she told the audience, stepping down from the hastily erected platform. "I've decided to stay an extra day. I need more information. I'll be talking to those among you who will consent to see me tomorrow. I'll be here an hour before dawn, for those who must work, and until midday." She lowered her voice, her green eyes still blazing with purpose as she turned to her two bodyguards. "Please take care of it, I'll explain to President Achlys, but anyone else who has a problem can keep it to themselves," she said stiffly.

Marquise nodded, hiding her surprise much less well than Alaric.

The crowd of exhausted workers parted for them, some hopeful, others wary, most wary of the hope blossoming in their chests.

Those were the ones that made Mags realize she had no choice but to succeed.

* * *

Urgent knocking shook Mags out of her troubled dreams.

Marquise's cranky voice soon reached through the door. "The meeting's one hour before dawn, girl. Isn't it already ridiculously accommodating? Don't you people have manners?"

Mags lit her bedside lamp. She met her mother's gaze, her eyebrows raised in question. The woman nodded, not bothering to lift her head off the pillow.

The victor went to open the door, a knife loosely held in her hand just in case. Who would want to see her this early?

"I assume you checked her for weapons," she told Marquise, to put an end to her arguing with the slight struggling figure she held firmly by the arm.

The peacekeeper, who'd been sleeping in the small room nearby -they were hosted in the barracks, which itself told Mags that the townsfolk's houses had to lack either running water or electricity-, was in her undertunic with her usual tidy ponytail in a hasty bun.

"If you had a slumber party organised, you could have invited me," Marquise said, all but shoving the girl inside. She scowled at the Galenese, "this better be a matter of life and death," she added before slamming the door shut.

"You're lucky that wasn't Alaric. At this hour, sneaking into the barracks? Do you have a death wish?"

"Why'd he hurt me?" The dark-haired girl said, her eyes widening as they took in Mags' knife.

The way the question was delivered made Mags suspect rebellion had long since died in Galene. She let herself fall seated on the bed and gestured for the girl to follow suit.

The girl gingerly obeyed, fidgeting as she glanced at Angelites.

"Mama sleeps soundly through the worst storms," Mags lied. Her mother would intervene or choose to keep pretending she was asleep as she saw fit. "Why did you come here?"

"My name's Adria, I want to volunteer," she said, swallowing her words in a peculiar way as she spoke.

Mags heart plummeted. She suddenly knew she should have heeded Marquise and not let the girl in. She was too tired for this nonsense. "Why?" she said, stifling a yawn. Her eyes fell on the blister-like scars on the girl's back. Chicken pox probably. Adria's shoulder blades showed, not enough to alarm Mags, but the tight muscles that covered her exposed body betrayed that she had been working for years.

"My brother, Ruben, he's in the Capitol. I want him back. I tried to move on," the young teenager said, the tremble in her voice getting worse, "the others did, but I can't. I need him back. I have to volunteer and get him back."

During the Games, Mags' fear and stress had compensated her wariness. Here there was only the mounting irritation caused by having to think while your whole body begged for rest. Adria's depressing reasons only kindled her short temper. The skinny girl looked so much a child and yet she was speaking of suicide with an earnestness that was beyond comprehension.

_How could someone be so naïve?_

"I don't know if avoxes watch, but it's possible, and he would see you die," Mags said, not prepared to sugar coat the Games.

Adria crossed her arms. "Help me or no, I'll still volunteer, Mags," she said, tilting her chin up. "You're not gonna stop me, cause I'm no better or worse than whoever'd be reaped that day. You'd kill her, innocent reaped her, by stopping me," Adria said, causing Mags to wince. "I saw the list of the thousand dead. I checked again and again. Ruben's alive, I _know_ it," she said, her accent growing more pronounced as her voice rose. "He's my brother! He was strong, he survived, he looked out for me. I gotta look out for him now. I can do that, but I gotta win."

Mags found tears rise in her eyes. She suddenly hated not having Esperanza close by, not knowing, and didn't even want to imagine how Adria felt. There was no law that made fair equal real and Mags couldn't let Adria's grief steal her ability to reason. Her brother was an avox in the Capitol. Adria had to open her eyes.

Mags took a deep breath, willing her non-existent patience a little closer to her normal daylight levels. She didn't know this girl, it wouldn't do any good to tear her apart.

"Do your parents mistreat you?" She asked.

"Course not," Adria said, her expression glum in the gloom. She laughed, a harsh little laugh that had no place on a girl her age. Or of any age. "You didn't like what you saw here, that's why you're not gone yet. 'magine what it's like, if you don't even have someone to share it with. I don't know my parents. They gotta work. Home is just a bed to sleep and a table to eat, quick and silent. We raise ourselves here, on the street. Ruben's my family. I gotta do right by him."

"How old is he?" Mags said, stalling as her sleep-deprived brain scrambled for a solution.

Adria looked like such a child.

"Fifteen," she said, "one year older than me. He was avoxed 'cause of Druze," she said, her whole face twisting with hate, "Marisol got taken in for theft, but everyone knows it's 'cause she wouldn't get on her knees for Druze. He's not even an officer, but he's nasty and we gotta tiptoe around him. We're getting him to make mistakes, in public, show he's lazy, make the Capitol look bad. The other cops aren't fond of him. He'll be out of here soon."

Mags stared, impressed. "You're much cleverer than the kids in Creneis," she said. She wished Kyle was here to hear this. She wished Kyle was here, _period._

Adria' lips twitched. "We gotta be. If you're stupid, you go down fast. Ruben... Marisol didn't want to get caught, and we knew she was innocent, so there was shouting and running all over. Ruben somehow ended up in the middle. Druze threw a fit, saying he got punched, they took three guys in because he knows some important people somewhere. I never knew if it was true. Ruben's not a hitter, never was."

"But you are?" Mags said, wishing nothing more than to curl up, sleep and forget this conversation.

"What?" Adria said, pronouncing it _wot, _quick and crisp.

"You'd kill, Adria? You'd murder innocent kids to get him back? You'd be able to look at them in the eyes and do it? You'd be able to seek them out before your food runs out, and do it even if they're begging you not to? Would Ruben want you back then? Have you thought of that?"

Adria's bloodless cheeks and horror-filled eyes were answer enough.

"Do you want him to see you die but only after you'd become a killer?" Mags said, feeling awful for twisting the knife, but knowing there was no mild way to put this.

"How can you say that! You're a bloody volunteer yourself," Adria exclaimed, outrage deforming her angular face, "I _need_ to find my brother! I'm not asking, I'm _telling_ you."

Mags ground her teeth together, itching to cuff the girl to get the rust out of her brain. "Tell your parents they'll be the ones shipping a thick tear-soaked diary since they'll be no body to weep over," she snapped.

Tears sprung from the fourteen-year-old's eyes but Mags found she did not care enough to soften her expression, not when the girl wanted to throw her life away.

"You think I'm selfish," Adria accused.

"_Yes," _Mags said,_ "_I can't have avoxes even if I beg the President. Ruben would still live in the Capitol."

"Then I'd go live there too," Adria shot back, her voice so strident that Marquise peeked through the door.

"He'd still be mute even if you could buy him back. You'd be a nobody _even if _you were allowed," Mags said through clenched teeth. She balled her fists, unable to comprehend why her message didn't get through, "but Adria, you _won't_ win."

The girl screamed in frustration. "What makes you so special? Why can't I win the Games? I can do it, I have to! No one wants it as badly. I don't care if he's mute! He's my _brother_," she spat, "you don't get it."

Mags rubbed her tired eyes. She was afraid that if she shut them too long she'd fall asleep. She wanted to shake the girl so badly, but knew she'd regret it tomorrow. This wasn't a broken television one could fix with a couple of slaps.

"Then train and watch the next Games very carefully," Angelites said, now seated on the bed. "Don't volunteer next year, wait at least to be sixteen. Mags will let you come to the new academy and mentor you, but only if you learn as much as you can on your side first. You can grow fit and knowledgeable with knives and knots on your own. Come two months after the end of the next Games."

"I…" Adria said, suddenly meek as she hesitated.

"You heard Mama. I don't break my word. If this matters so much to you, you'll do your best to succeed, one year or two are nothing when failure is death, and breaking your brother more surely than his avoxing did," she couldn't resist adding, wishing the girl would wake up. "I'll remember you, Adria," she promised, clasping the girl's hand tightly for a brief moment, "I'll send you a permission letter so they don't stop you from coming to Creneis."

Relief washed over the girl's angular features. "Thank you," she muttered awkwardly.

"You got what you wanted," Marquise said, leaning against the door. "Now get out. Slumber party's over. And next time, seriously, wait for daylight. They could have slept naked for all you knew."

Adria stared oddly at Marquise. She shook her head before breaking into a run, sparing Mags a last glance. The victor raised her hand in salute, stifling a snort at Marquise's comments.

The peacekeeper's priorities never failed to amuse her. The only reason people didn't swim naked was that the Capitol had set very low prices for swimsuits because the idea of a nudist district offended their sensibilities.

"Go to bed Marquise, anyone else can stay outside," Mags said.

"Terrific," Marquise said with a relieved grin, breaking into a yawn big enough swallow a whale. "Shout out if there's trouble, I'm not far," she said, clicking the door shut.

Mags turned to her mother, stifling a yawn of her own. "You think time will make her grow up quickly enough?"

"If the child is serious, she'll jump off a cliff if you hold her back," Angelites said, disillusioned, "Don't hold her back because she's now familiar and the reaped child will be a stranger. Majority is also the freedom to make bad decisions. She could win too."

Mags shoulders drooped. There was something quite chilling about her mother's resigned words.

"I could have been talking to a brick wall for all she heard," Mags whispered, unable to shake off the guilt now clutching at her insides. Should she have said something else? Had she missed something crucial?

Angelites stood up, her white nightdress falling down to her feet. She sat next to her daughter and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "With hope, she won't volunteer."

* * *

Alaric shook her awake much too early. Aggressive artificial light attacked her sticky eyelids.

"Sorry, Mags, but Marquise isn't ready yet," he said stiffly, taking a swift step back from the bed. "Could you wake your mother?"

"I'm up. Why so tense? Are women in Two incapable of making the difference between a touch and molesting?"

"Some," Alaric said with a tight smile. "I'm not taking the risk, Ma'am."

Angelites pushed her covers away and stood up, her tangled hair tumbling over her cleavage. Her long nightdress was opaque but did little to conceal her figure. "So you go for the younger woman?" She said with a condemning expression.

Alaric flushed jumping even further away from Mags. His eyes had widened is alarm as he sought a dignified escape.

The raven-haired woman cracked a smile after a few seconds. "Early morning sense of humor, don't mind me. We'll be out in a quarter hour, Alaric, thank you."

Mags grinned as soon as the man was out. "Having fun?"

"Young men are so easy," Angelites replied with a knowing smirk, collecting her raven hair to better brush them. "Besides, it woke you up, Preciosa."

Mags blinked. The one-sided banter had indeed chased her sleepiness away.

"Yes, it did," she said with a grin, rolling out of the bed. She winced when her bare feet hit the freezing floor. "Time to go."

The beach was lit by burning torches on long stakes. Over twenty people were already waiting in the cold. Many had their children with them, children who looked thrilled to be there and held their parents tightly, even those in their early teens.

_I don't know my parents. They gotta work. _Mags forced herself to swallow, her green eyes bright.

"There's something so wrong with this district," Marquise muttered, "You're up before dawn half the time and the town's dead after eight PM. You don't know how to live." She huffed, tearing a smile from the victor.

The blonde turned to the ten local peacekeepers standing a few steps back and ordered them to secure the zone. Mags made sure they were out of earshot.

A man with graying sandy-hair stepped forward. "We took a minute yesterday when you left and we decided I should speak for us. The others will add something if my memory fails me. I'm Cobia."

"Sit down, the sand is dry and we've all got a long day ahead of us," Mags said, unceremoniously dropping to the ground. Everyone was swift to follow suit. "I've had an idea. I need this kept quiet for now, but it might be the beginning of a solution," she began.

"Anything is better than what we have now," a skinny woman said with a strained smile that didn't reach her eyes, "How old are you, Ma'am?" she asked, pointing at Angelites.

"Forty-two," her mother replied, sitting down on the beach like the rest of them. A young man whistled, earning himself a cuff.

"You're gorgeous, Lady, and you have a decade on me," the other said with a pained chuckle. "And I got neither beaten or in an accident. My hair's gray and my skin's wrinkled from exposure and being too skinny," she said, taking her threadbare coat off and holding her bony arms out before her, "Girls start making kids at sixteen 'cause you need energy for babies and you don't have that later. Anything's better," she repeated.

Mags grasped her mother's hand for comfort, weariness and pain tightening her throat. The Galenese looked so drawn and she was the same age as Myia...

The two faces of Panem, two sides of the same coin, sparkling gold and rust covered iron.

"Anemone," Cobia said gently, "let's hear the victor out."

Mags frowned as the attention turned to her. She had forgotten to ask the peacekeepers a crucial question.

"What's the crime rate here?" She said, "I'm asking because of the speech President Achlys gave in Creneis, in September."

Cobia nodded. "We saw it. I don't think we're the ones making the numbers rise. We're okay with the peacekeepers, save a few. They're not the problem. The jobs are. They're killing us. Things are getting fixed, some securities put in, but it's much too slow. And we're not the ones who need meteorology."

No, Orithyia was desperate for the radars, but here it evidently was not so crucial.

Mags pointed at a well-dressed young man. "You're wealthier, are you a factory owner -?

Laughter rippled through the small crowd. "The Capitol owns the factory," Cobia explained, "That's one of the problems. They have no idea, there's no manager. The peacekeepers are actually the ones speeding things up. It's falling apart and the channels are blocked."

"There could be corruption from the Capitol's side," Angelites said, a calculating light in her eyes. Some people blanched in fear, but Mags smiled.

"Some problems the Capitol can't, or won't fix, but if corruption ruins a district like this, the President will act," she said confidently. "Achlys despises corruption." Pleased surprised looks greeted her declaration.

Mags turned back to the fit man in the richer clothes.

"I'm a glass blower," he said, "I think it's the one luxury trade of the District. We're a score or so." He gave her a shy smile, "We're the rich, I guess. We keep the pharmacy too, try to have the cheapest prices."

People nodded at that, whispering to each other, and Mags saw no animosity there.

"I'm impressed at how close knit you are," she said, surer of her plan with every passing minute.

"Things are so bad that we don't need a peacekeeper to hang whoever tries to screw with others," Anemone said with a grim smile._ "That_ we make sure to teach our kids properly, no matter the time it takes."

Mags nodded. "Alright, here is the solution," she said, "imagine Four becomes a peacekeeper district. There's a debate going on about that in the Capitol right now. They'd have to recruit from the population. It would cause problems in Creneis, Lycorias and even Orithyia and even more problems in the fishing villages, but things are different in Galene. If the construction of a center came with the assurance the factories were made safer and the machines newer, better work conditions and the assurance the peacekeepers would be able to spend a reasonable amount of time home, that a percentage of those serving here would be locals..."

"That's brilliant," Cobia exclaimed, his wrinkled hazel eyes lighting up. "If we have our own peacekeepers, they'll be also morally accountable to us. We won't be so stupid as to ask for preferential treatment, because that'd make the Capitol assign our children out of the district, but already, if the laws are followed properly, we're protected enough."

Things would have been so different in Creneis that Mags struggled not to gape. Had poverty eradicated the deep grudges from the war or had peacekeepers truly behaved in a way that had brought them closer to the population?

"Your children, enough of them at least, would have to become peacekeepers," Mags said carefully.

"Our children, too many of them, are dying," Anemone shot back.

"Peacekeepers, the legal description of the job, is nothing to frown upon," Cobia said with a shrug. "It's what some bullies make of it that is wrong. We've got nothing to hide from the Capitol."

Mags nodded, still a little stunned. "Send me a note when you'll have come to an agreement with the rest of the town, even a simple yes or no, through your mayor or peacekeepers, to Creneis. I'll start the discussions. I'll come back here when we'll have to write down the agreements to see what your specific needs are and make sure both parties are satisfied."

"Why are you doing this?" the glass-blower asked, honest curiosity on his smiling face.

"Because her mother raised her properly," Angelites replied with a smile.

Mags chuckled with the others, but her chest was constricted. She was changing Four in a way she could never have predicted. It all felt so much bigger than her.

* * *

**Author's note.**

**Mags will be back in Creneis next chapter after a short stop in Lycorias. District Four is always about fishing and sailing. I tried to diversify because the sea isn't just fishing, not nearly. I hope this chapter showed how Four will become a peacekeeper District with Galene as the recruiting center as well as what would bring 'regular' people to volunteer now that they believe they have a chance since Mags won. **

**Please review.^^**


	42. Moving on

_Date: Year 10, February. Six months after Mags' victory._

Mags spun round as she heard her name through the swarming seagulls' harsh calls. She had always though Creneis' docks to be respectable in size, but that was before she had seen Lycorias.

Her eyes widened in delight. "_Glynn_," she exclaimed.

"Not _her,_" Marquise harrumphed, her ponytail swishing as she stopped abruptly in her tracks.

"Stunning earrings, Ma'am" Glynn said, eyeing the pearls in approval.

Marquise's stiff expression melted, leaving her to beam like a child.

"And Mags, where did you learn to skin animals and weave such soft coats?" The auburn-haired girl teased, running her fingers lightly on the warm mantle Mags had bought in the Capitol.

"I actually have a wicked set of Capitol bracelets for you."

Glynn's face broke into a soft smile. "How nice of you," she said. She straightened proudly. "I have a present too, of the more practical kind, although I wonder why you needed me considering you went cross-district on your own. And on the topic of striking speeches," she said with a slight frown, "this had nothing of a victory tour; no mention of the Games, of Delphin, nothing."

Mags broke into peals of merry laughter. "I think they forgot," she said cheerfully. "Lucian, the escort, didn't come to Four with me because the last minute plans didn't involve him and now it's too late to fix this. I'm sure he realized it even earlier than I did and that he's just as happy as I am to be home." She slipped her arm into Glynn's and smiled. "People came to me because you'd talked to them, especially in the villages, it helped tremendously. Did you stop in Galene too?"

"No," Glynn said, regret creasing her features, "the Captain said there's nothing worthwhile in Galene. He's from there, and he feels strongly against going back." Her tone grew curious. "What's to hate about that place?"

"I'll be checking that stall with the perfumes for dangerous chemical bombs," Marquise suddenly said, making a beeline for the little shop in an adjacent street.

There were no perfumes sold in Creneis, just scented soaps. Mags found herself grinning before she remembered Glynn's question.

"It's very poor," she said, her eyes falling to the ground, seeing Anemone, ruined by harsh work, "there's a terrible death toll in the factories, to the point where the town is relying on the peacekeepers to convince the Capitol that helping them is urgent." She dropped her voice. "The Capitol wants to have peacekeepers in Four, so Galene is prepared to have a center built and send recruits in exchange for better living conditions."

She wasn't brave enough to say it had been her idea before she heard Glynn's honest opinion.

The girl's jaw had dropped. "Peacekeepers, from _here_? That could be the most awesome thing that ever happened, giving us a whole army, or it could be nip every future attempt at rebellion in the bud." She jabbed Mags' chest with a stern finger. "You'd better not screw up."

Mags tensed. _Way to make me feel confident, Glynn._

"I'll help you," Glynn said with a wink. "And let me show you this before Marquise has no excuse left to give us some privacy," she added, pulling a small notebook out of her handbag. The girl lowered her tone, her eyes locking with Mags'. "You're lucky you landed on her. She doesn't care about politics or Panem, but she likes you, so she's loyal to you. Don't have a falling out."

"I won't," Mags promised, something about Glynn's words making her chest tighten, as if she'd been too dismissive of Marquise. Her eyes fell on the notebook. "So who's interested?" She asked eagerly, her heartbeat increasing.

"I've got a list. A short list really, many of the people I met wouldn't do at all. I imagine you're not holding a charity and want truly competent teachers and promising students to launch the academy off?"

"Yes, absolutely."

Short was quite alright if the people were good. A single mistake among those she hired and she could ruin her academy's reputation before the constructions had even ended.

"I've got a list of fifty-six, thirty-eight as students, people who are good but could become masters, and the rest as confirmed specialists, at least temporarily. Over two-thirds are from Lycorias, but that's to be expected," Glynn said, in a voice that reminded Mags of the time a much younger Glynn had sat on the first row in class, eager to recite her lessons flawlessly. "I've been here two weeks, so I've been interrogating them," Glynn continued. "The first page lists the specialists. There are stars next to the names since I made a first selection, but you'll have the final say of course."

Mags scanned the list. Most of the eighteen had three stars and a handful had four.

She stopped on a name with five stars, frowning at the large NO written on the side.

_Vasco Martin, 40, single, childless. Lycorias._

_Chemistry, water filtering (hardware and operating), basic electronics and physics, basic meteorology, explains really well._

"Why is he crossed out?" She asked. Vasco sounded great, no attachments and rare skills.

"He's a rebel from the Citadel, Mags, I found out a little late. That's also why he learned so many things that aren't taught in District Four. You don't want the attention."

Mags froze. _Citadel rebel._ _That's what she'd forgotten!_ Achlys had said they'd been allowed back to the Districts. _So it was true?_

She had to see him.

"Mags?" Glynn said, grasping her upper arm.

"He's also a chemist who knows electronics," Mags complained weakly, shaking herself from her torpor.

"Mags, don't push it," Glynn said, her voice hardening. "It's going so incredibly well and we're not so short on time that we need a chemist right now."

"Yeah…" Mags acknowledged, her face falling. Her eyes were still on the list.

_West Cisco, 47 ***, no family seen, he refused to say anything personal. Lycorias._

_Makes and repairs harpoons. Made his own forge, better knowledge of metals and weapons than all of Four combined. Foul disposition, was interested for mysterious reasons. Can't possibly teach children, too rude. _

_Rio Bones, 36, **** married to Andromeda Bones, 38, *** four children aged 6 to 17. Children aren't opposed to moving. Rio's mother lives with them (housing in Creneis for seven?). Lycorias._

_Him: Solid carpentry and design, coordinated ship building and repair for seven years, great track record and reputation, bad hand so can't work as hard but precision work perfect. Very motivated for job, fun personality and great speaker. Obtains shipments of wood from Seven faster than the others (how?)._

_Her: second mate for fourteen years, did whaling runs in deep sea and oversaw food conservation, impatient but very energetic, skills in record keeping and astronomy. _

Mags found herself nodding in approval. West sounded like a gamble, but these two would be perfect. The victor was already eager to meet them, even if she knew much had to be done before that.

She lifted her head back to Glynn, her smile broadening. "It's so nice to see you. When will you be back?"

"We set sail in less than a week, on the fourth of March_, finally_."

Mags frowned, concerned by the sheer relief on Glynn's face. "You don't –"

"Oh I loved it," Glynn said with a grin, "seeing so much of Four, talking to so many different people, talent hunting for you, drawing the maps… But spending so much time on a ship with the same people day in and day out? I miss my family. I had my own small cabin to draw, thank goodness, but even so I don't have a sailor's temperament. I start to find everyone annoying after a while."

Mags chuckled. She could well imagine. "Anything truly noteworthy?"

Glynn frowned, pensive. "There's a law that states people with three children or more get a free tesserae," she said after a moment, 'I never saw that free tesserae, and half siblings count for half, so we're three alright."

"Yes, I heard that during the tour," Mags said, her expression tight. "I also heard we'll soon have to have an average of three kids per person in the family, starting with our generation."

Glynn's lips parted in horror. "O-kay," she said, taking a deep breath, "I won't _ever_ complain again when my sisters bring up making more babies. It's like their only subject of conversation but I'll encourage them now."

"How many nephews do you have?" Mags said, her voice strained.

"Two on one side, and one on the other with twins on the way, but Jett doesn't want kids and even if he changes his mind, he'll never want four. I thought one or two sounded great," Glynn grumbled. "What's the age limit?"

"Thirty before stuff starts to happen. Like not selling contraception –"

Sharp laughter burst from Glynn's lips. "They'll come and check in my bedroom? You can do a blood test for pills, but they'll what, turn your house inside out for condoms? Check your trash? Put in cameras to make sure the man stays in the woman until the end?" Glynn raised a finger, her eyes narrowing shrewdly. "It might boost male peacekeeper recruits, free porn all day long, _yay_."

Mags winced through her chuckles at the mental image the questions conjured.

"At least Marquise would stop complaining about her sunburns from too long patrols: a nice desk job, watching others people do all the hard work," Glynn said, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

Mags almost choked, mirth and horror bringing tears to her eyes. "You've been hanging out with sailors too much, please stop."

"That's the tip of the iceberg. Sailors are much worse than this. You're so pure, _Preciosa_." Glynn's teasing smile fell. She pressed her lips tightly together. "Keep me updated on laws that will affect my uterus, please."

Mags ticked at the _pure_ comment. "Ever kissed a boy, Glynn?"

And it was offensive to think that sleeping with a boy was a greater step to adulthood than surviving the Games. So many people had sex without a care because they were bored and thought it would somehow change their lives that the whole mystique of it was ridiculous.

"Marlin," Glynn said, batting her eyelashes. She sighed dreamily. "We were seven and he carried my bags."

"Aww," Mags said, clasping her hands together in exaggerated delight.

"And you know, guys who could grow a beard too," Glynn added with a small smile, "even the same guy for a year actually, until he asked me to marry him out of the blue, as soon as I got legal. You_ really_ want details?"

"No, sorry," Mags hastily said, "I'm 'pure', I'll own it. Forget I said anything."

Glynn put a hand on the victor's shoulder. "Mags, you're eighteen. If you don't want to sleep with Kyle after six months, there's a problem. Tell me you have a big reason for waiting, then it's quite okay, but if the desire isn't there, something's not clicking right."

_The desire isn't there?_ Mags bit back a groan. Glynn had no idea.

"I'mwaitingforhimtoask," she mumbled, not believing she was actually discussing this.

Glynn pulled the upset young woman down on the cold pavement and clasped her hands in front of her, her piercing hazel eyes unnervingly attentive. "Again, slowly."

"I'm waiting for him to ask. He's the guy, he should be twice as willing as I am. If he doesn't even talk about it, it means he's not ready, right?"

_That he didn't really want to… _She sighed. It felt liberating to finally tell someone, despite her cheeks feeling like they had burst into flames.

Glynn frowned and shook her head. "Kyle… He hasn't talked about it at all? That could be linked to his aunt's ordeal. Maybe he mistakes showing interest and being pushy, the nasty kind. You're dating a guy with issues and who didn't seem a leader to me," Glynn bit back a wry chuckle, "not at all…"

Mags groaned. She hadn't even thought that Narissa's _ordeal_, as Glynn put it, would turn sex into something taboo for her boyfriend. Suddenly, she felt much less self-conscious about her slow moving relationship. She wasn't the problem, Kyle was. _And now she had to make him see that there was nothing wrong with…_ The young woman let her head fall against Glynn's shoulder, exhausted just at the thought of having such an awkward conversation.

"How'd you know about Narissa?" She said, wondering how she could broach the subject with Kyle without seeming too aggressive.

Glynn's face split in a wry smile. "Mum knows enough to embarrass half the town to an early grave. She tells me most of it."

The victor frowned. "Isn't she expected _not _to tell?"

"Mags, it's hard to keep secrets," Glynn said, something dark flitting over her features. "Ma can talk to me and Papi. It makes her feel better, helps her bounce ideas and keep facts straight, and I love it because we have more interesting conversations than I have with anyone else." She paused, defensiveness entering her tone. "Have you ever seen me blackmail someone? And Mama barely gets paid for this. Her real job is matchmaker, not shrink. She's got her own sanity to worry about."

"Of course," Mags said, really not wanting to fight, "I just wondered. My sister's staying with her right now. Do you think your mother will pick at her brain?"

Glynn laughed. "For sure. Invite Ma over, she'll make you all sit down and talk. You'll be surprised at what comes out of it."

"I'll invite you too then, since she tells you everything," Mags said with a wink.

It might do them good.

* * *

She had meant to go back to her mother. She'd told Marquise not to worry, that it was a three minutes' walk in crowded sunlit streets.

Instead her feet had taken her far from the main path. To Vasco Martin's small house.

The door was unlocked. Mags knuckles rapped the door, her throat dry.

"_You_," a bald man with a thick gray beard and narrow brown eyes said, surprise clear in his rough voice. "Come in, Mags." He gestured to the couch in the tiny living room. "What do you want," he asked amiably.

Mags let herself fall on the old piece of furniture, her eyes taking in the house and the man, tracing the tattoos on his neck, ones she knew covered his whole chest. Her heart was racing, but her mind was suddenly blank.

_What did she want from Vasco?_

"I'm not sure I get this," she finally said, gesturing all around her. "How you became_ this, _after everything." She cringed at how inarticulate she sounded.

Vasco's thick eyebrows shot upwards. He gave her a small smile, the one reserved for sweet naïve children.

Mags forced her expression to stay neutral.

The man scoffed. "Ten years, do you have idea how long that is?" He said, his face twisting in a sour grimace. "_Ten years._ I wasn't a soldier. I was a lad of thirty with big ideas on right and wrong who'd been through hell and yet pulled himself together enough to keep fighting. We fought and fought, beyond reason, sometimes beyond hope. Good people were dying and no one was replacing them, because too many had stopped to believe in the rebellion. Maybe too few had believed to begin with... _Cowards_," he muttered, a flash of something entering his eyes.

Mags knew in that moment that lad and his big ideas were still there, but something had cast them in chains.

"You can't keep on fighting for ten years," Vasco said, his tone final. "Ten years buried, living on for something you knew wouldn't happen. If at least we could have changed things, it might've been okay, but we couldn't have, because we needed more people, and _more people_ never came. So it was ten years of nuts and pills for breakfast, nuts and pills for lunch and nuts and pills for dinner, ten years without seeing the sky, feeling the sun's warmth, or tasting salt. Ten years of lying to the kids we raised, pretending there was a life to be had."

Mags swallowed. _Ten years._ She'd known, but it hadn't sunk in. She was now amazed that Citadel people had not been insane.

"At least here, there's true life," Vasco said with a small smile. "It's less than we could have, but it's more than I did. You learn to appreciate it. Better have a bit than have nothing but dreams."

"You had each other," Mags weakly said.

"At first," Vasco agreed, "but after time it became a lie. We'd grown bitter, disgusted at how weak we all were, but no one would say it, afraid to be kicked out, like Atli, like the others, who got claimed by madness and became animals. It was the only thing that kept us going, that illusion of strength," Vasco said, bitterness creasing the deep lines on his face. "Some found love and friends, some vanished for weeks in the bunker, playing hide and seek in an attempt to find some awe in our boring lives. We got sick of each other, started hating just because at least that was something powerful and real. People aren't meant to be caged so long. People aren't meant not to see the sun and hear the birds."

"How many were caught and how many were freed?" Mags pushed, her fists clenched painfully on her lap. A part of her was desperate to know the fire that had animated the bunker still survived somewhere. This was a Citadel man, not bunker, maybe others hadn't given up yet.

Where was Sylvan? Where were Chickaree, Teal, Fix, Skylar? Surely some were alive, _unbroken_.

"Don't know," Vasco admitted, unease and concern flitting over his face, "I was alone all the time. I've met six here, a family from the Bunker and a Scavenger couple. Okay folk, better than I'd have thought," he said with a shrug. His expression darkened. "Not many Citadel folk left before the Cestoda came in force anyway… The others will all tell you the same thing. Wasn't pleasant in the Capitol, but it wasn't torture."

Mags nodded, not knowing what to say. What could she say when confronted to the unraveling of the last relics of what had once been a magnificent bastion of resistance?

The man shrugged after a pause. "We're harmless. I guess we were harmless before, we just hated the idea too much to see it. I just want a life. I'll take what I can." He gave her a toothy smile. "I got a tan, fancy that." His smile turned wistful as he lifted his arm towards the sea. "_Awe_, Girl. I'd forgotten."

Mags blinked tears back. "I wish you the best of luck, be... be happy," she said, abruptly standing up. The room was too cramped, she had to get out.

"You too, don't forget about life chasing dreams."

Mags forced a small smile. "Thanks for your time," she whispered.

She gently shut the door behind her, her feet dragging her back to where she should have gone in the first place.

She started as she almost collided into a peacekeeper as she turned the corner. Mags snapped her head upwards and exhaled in relief.

Marquise was waiting impatiently against the wall, a small tight smile on her tanned face.

"I don't make the same mistake twice, Miss Mags," the young peacekeeper said, "I told Ajax to lay off your mother when she wanted to go home after Esperanza's kidnapping, leaving you all at the mercy of that Garron hag. I just decided to be discreet about it this time."

Mags' lips broke into a sad smile. Marquise was discreet about more things than Mags had any right to ask "I'll miss you when you leave."

"Leave?" Marquise scoffed. "I'll ask for three more years here. I have no intention of ending up stranded in District Ten counting chickens."

"They'll grant it, just like that?"

Marquise laughed. "It's not like people fight over _Creneis Town_. I can't even smell fish anymore, it's a very bad sign." She sobered slightly. "As long as my track record is clean, I can demand an extension. Only thirty out of fifty rotate every three years, even if it's usually the younger ones."

Mags was almost surprised at how relieved and happy she was to hear Marquise would stay for another five years. She was growing really fond of the woman.

"How'd you end up guarding me anyway?" She asked warmly. "You'd been in Four just a couple of months back then."

Marquise lifted her eyes skywards, as if to say 'who else could have been worth it?'. The blonde smirked, her eyes back on Mags. "Lieutenant Falx had to pick five and the talent pool isn't large. Creneis is a dead end for advancement and it will impress no one to say you were assigned there. No one over thirty is worth a dime: Legend's as good as you get among the _veterans," _she said, a sardonic smile gracing her ruby lips._ "_He's observant and his mind is lightning in a crisis, but he hates responsibilities and he's as lazy as a lizard in winter. He's lucky he's rather smart, or he'd be the one counting chickens in Ten."

A superior expression flitted over Marquise's face. "Lieutenant Falx felt I brought some flexibility and a different perspective on things in the team." Her voice softened as she gazed into the distance. "Memory is a very important thing in District One -"

Mags nodded wistfully, remembering how she had been made to recite the story behind every tapestry they owned and sewed from the time she had learned to talk.

" - and we're taught to pay attention to people, to anticipate their wishes and actions. We're a merchant district who sells things people don't need. Our greatest skill is convincing people the superfluous is necessary." Marquise shook her head, distaste curling her lips. "Indra and Al are disciplined, remarkable with weapons, solid and loyal, but they can't take an initiative to save their lives and they don't understand people. No one teaches them to think in District Two," Marquise said, looking depressed. "They were made to be machines, boring copies of each other. I've been trying to turn Al into a real human being."

Mags laughed, feeling sorry for the poor man. "He'd be_ so_ flattered to hear you speak of him like that."

"I've told him worse. Indra too, and that cow tried to punch me." Marquise snickered. "She failed. I hate weapons, but I had too big a crush on our self-defense instructor to pass with less than a black belt. Four miserable years of sweating on a mat like a pig, but he was a god." Marquise's eyes shimmered with nostalgia. "Shiraz would always demonstrate with the best students. I fainted the first time he picked me."

Mags laughed again, incredulous. "How _old _were you, Marquise?"

"Your age," the young woman said with a broad grin. "A_ god _I tell you."

* * *

The moonlit Creneis was just as Mags had left it, minus the snow.

"Let's go home."

Mags nodded, but for once, instead of the magnificent mansion on the cliff, she thought of the small house with peeling walls, wobbly wooden furniture and creaking floors she had grown up in.

She missed Kyle with a fierceness that grew more with every step she took closer to her house and she wanted to run up to Glynn's house to shake Esperanza awake.

But first, there was something she had to do.

Marquise and Alaric left them at their doorstep, probably off to finish their all too short night. Mags almost felt guilty to have asked for a hovercraft to take them from the riverside village, justly named Riverton, to Creneis in the middle of the night, but she couldn't bear it any longer.

Mags hands were trembling as she unwrapped the storage disks which held Constantine and Fife's last moments.

"There are microphones in the hovercraft," Mags muttered. "None of us knew."

"You're alive," her mother said with a strained smile, putting her hand on Mags' chilled arms. "It won't be anything dangerous."

"It will be personal," Mags whispered, plugging the records into her audio system.

_"Get us out of here faster." _

When Fife's voice, unmistakable despite the loud background noise, filled the room, Mags stood up, as if held by an invisible hand. A sob caught in her dry throat and her knees buckled.

She was caught by her mother, who cradled her in her arms, pulling her back safely in the sofa. Mags barely acknowledged it, transported to another time and place.

A place of blood and chaos.

_"Nerves, woman. I need you to take them down."_

She had forgotten how cool and collected Constantine managed to sound in the heat of battle. She realized she was shaking harder than before, tears running down her cheeks.

_"With my gun? I don't think…" _A pause._ "Oh, right. How does it work?"_

_"You aim with the monitor, lock on and shoot,"_ Constantine said tersely.

The shots were loud and triumphant. Mags wiped her eyes, remembering how the hostile hovercrafts had crashed to the ground, allowing the cornered rebels to flee deep in the dark mountains.

She wanted them back. This should not have only been possible at the cost of their lives.

She missed them so much.

_"What about your family," _Fife said, her voice trembling so hard that Mags could perfectly picture her terrified face_, "how can you not fight to get back to them?"_

The howling wind covered the next words. Mags cursed, turning on the volume but knowing it was useless. Why hadn't they locked those accursed doors!

Constantine's dry chuckle briefly covered the background noise. Thankfully his voice was not soft when he spoke again.

_"My mother conceived me at forty-six, my father was almost sixty. They had been married for over twenty years. It is plain that I was a social necessity, one far down on their list of priorities. Once I was there, they groomed me. They were fair and paid close attention to my education in all things. They were great teachers but not parents, not in the sense you intend it." _

Mags felt tears rise in her eyes at the knowledge Constantine's whole family had heard those terrible words. His father had died so soon after… She felt even more for her late ally, who had been more lost than they had ever suspected.

"_I have always been a very rewarding investment. Coraline has showed me more love than they ever did, and she's a paid servant. I owe my parents, I appreciate and respect them, but I do not see the appeal of the life I was conceived to lead. No matter how wealthy and well connected, I would be powerless, forced to deal with idiots for shallow goals. Teal will live and Mags will cleanse Panem of the plague scouring it."_

Mags blanched. The remote control slipping through her grasp. Valerian may have gotten a copy of the records without Achlys knowing but there was no way Achlys hadn't seen the tape.

_Mags will cleanse Panem of the plague scouring it._

How was she still alive?

"Keep listening," Angelites whispered, tightening her hold on her shivering daughter, "it's not over."

The wind cackled over the microphones, assaulting Mags' ears like sharp claws on metal. Venomous dread snaked its way up her body, suffocating her, until Fife's voice rose over the din.

_"You volunteered because you wanted to be free of the life you would have otherwise had in One, Constantine? You felt __that __jailed?" _

Fife's anger was unmistakable. Mags felt her own blood boil at the injustice of it, but without Constantine, she would not have won. She bit back a scream of rage and closed her eyes.

Were she to reach out, she would almost touch him. Constantine was so easy to picture, handsome and so sure of himself, etched in her memory for life.

Fife's scream pierced through her like a knife. _"Constantine steer away!"_

Mags wanted to curl up and hide her ears. She'd seen them die thrice already, she didn't want to hear it. Why had she wanted to hear it?

The wind covered so much and yet not enough. There was movement in the hovercraft.

"They're fighting," Mags whispered, now wishing Valerian had also gotten his hands on the video and yet desperately grateful that he hadn't. _They're fighting and it was her fault._

The sounds of struggle ceased. Mags held her breath._ "You foolish girl," Constantine snarled,_ _"you are too weak to overpower me. Do try to keep a semblance of dignity."_

_"I won't die for some noble bullshit of yours," Fife snapped, "take us away, Constantine! We can make it!"_

_Please,_ Mags begged, knowing it was futile.

_"Grow up, Fife. Those rules even you cannot break! You're just a cunning kid from Nine's streets. You know nothing of true power."_

Wind and static were the only thing left, filling the room for a whole minute that dragged into eternity until a sickening crash followed by an explosion cause left nothing but silence.

"Odd that the girl at least didn't scream," Angelites muttered, her eyes wet.

Mags was staring at the stereo in horror. What had possessed her to wish to see that? Would she ever be grateful? Wounds blessedly eroded by time shredded open in the quest of... of what? Partial knowledge? More reason for pain? And worse…

_Her own life was in danger._

Her mother took a shaky breath. "She didn't believe him. She _didn't_ believe him," she repeated. "It's the only explanation," she said, her tone even. "Achlys believes that Constantine had failed to realize that you'd _changed_."

"How could she think that?" Mags exclaimed, her own voice brittle, "I didn't kill Cresyl, _big deal_. I didn't say anything rebellious during the last day, but neither did I truly defend the Capitol. I did say Wickers' plan was a diversion, but it was so _obvious_."

"You killed him, Mags. You killed a symbol of the resistance. It's the first man you killed, and you didn't hesitate."

"I threw grenades –"

"At anonymous hijacked people and cannibals who Achlys probably despises so much she has no reason to think you cared any more than she did," the raven-haired woman said, clutching Mags' hands. "Every citizen in Panem saw you stare at Fife's gun, unable to take it to kill your allies, and yet you killed the leader of the underground rebellion with a look of hate that would have melted steel, saying you'd heard enough lies for a lifetime. Achlys doesn't think _she's_ the liar."

"Wickers_ is_ a martyr," Mags protested. "Who cares what I said when I shot him. He died saving the rebels who were fleeing."

Impatience clouded Angelites' features. "Stop thinking like a rebel."

Mags glowered at her mother. The woman glowered back with a small smile.

"Start thinking like the President of Panem who did everything in her power to force those rebels out of hiding," Angelites said, "Using the Hunger Games was a desperate move, Mags. It worked, but it was more than that. Rebels are dismissed, belittled and forgotten in official media. Wickers was not, he was mentioned again and again, rolled in the mud and stepped on, hard, for _months_. This was obsession. This was_ revenge_. Achlys has emotions too."

"If she thinks, 'why would a rebel shoot Wickers' she'll see the truth in a blink," Mags said. Achlys was intelligent, pretending otherwise was ridiculous.

"She won't think it if she's convinced of something else. Mags," her mother said with a sigh. "You are but one of the many _many_ things the President has to think about, do not think she spends hours fretting over your loyalties. There are so many acts of isolated anger in Panem every day that you do not fit the image she has of rebels. You're innocent until proven guilty and right now, she's not looking beyond the surface for proof."

"She could be thinking to milk me for all my worth and then kill me once I become dangerous," Mags said, bringing her knees to her chin, "for now I have done nothing that threatens the Capitol."

"I don't think Achlys believes someone likable can be a rebel. She despises our kind too much. She has been quite accommodating with you, which makes me think she likes you. As long as you give her no reason to suspect, you are in little danger from her."

Mags snorted weakly. "She said she knew many remarkable people that dated stupidly at my age. And that Kyle was okay with her as long as he doesn't cause trouble. She really didn't seem to care and she knew."

Angelites spread her arms out, as if this proved her point.

Mags bit her lips, uneasy. It for so rare for her mother not to worry that only that made the victor inclined to believe her, and yet…

"You're saying I'm worrying because my ego is too big, Mama?"

A small chuckle escaped the dark-haired woman's lips. "Everyone thinks they're the center of the universe…"

"Or it's just I really haven't done anything against the Capitol."

"You have," her mother replied immediately, her eyes serious. "You're laying the groundwork. I remember how the first rebellion happened, how the signs were so obvious in hindsight. Mags, it'll be years, but you're slowly changing mentalities. Act instead of endure, build instead of destroy. You're reminding people that the cities belong to them and not the Capitol, and you're reminding each town they're part of a bigger whole. You're giving them ambition, Mags. It's the first step."

Mags felt a shiver run up her spine, not so reassured. "And when Achlys notices this ambition?"

"We'll act accordingly. Plan ahead," her mother said, caressing her daughter's hair, "but don't lose your sleep over imaginary disasters."

"What about Valerian? Constantine's mother was a Colonel, that's almost as high as you can get."

"A mother can't be loyal to the nation that murdered her son, peacekeeper or not. Valerian went out of his way to give you those records." Angelites paused. "Did Lucian tell Achlys you wanted him as a guard?"

"I don't _think_ so," Mags said, relaxing ever so slightly. "He made a big show of being as independent as possible. Achlys saw the transmissions, not the rest, unless she asked..."

"Then why would Valerian plot your demise this way knowing no sane person would have expected you to demand him as part of your escort? If Achlys wanted you to have those records, she'd not have taken the risk of giving them to a man who cared for Constantine. Valerian had the records because he needed to know _why. _He gave them to you because he's got enough empathy to know you did too."

Mags wasn't convinced but she was slowly feeling better, much better. It made sense. There was a thin line between careful and paranoid, and she had almost crossed it.

She smiled wanly, happy her memories of District One had not been sullied with a fear of betrayal.

Her eyes felt back on the audio system. "Can you please destroy it, Mama?" She said, biting her lips not to cry. She was conscious that those records, and the single framed picture near her bed, were the only tangible things she still had of Fife and Constantine but she was tired of weeping.

She had to let go.

* * *

**AN:**

**Achlys' motives during the 9****th**** Games are in the 3****rd**** outtake for people who haven't seen it. **

**Thank you ETNRL4L for helping me with all the bits in Spanish and thank you all for reading and reviewing.**

**Please review.**


	43. Change

_Date: Year 10, March. One day after the end of the Victory Tour._

"What is_ that_?" A dismayed male voice said.

Mags grinned. She'd been confident about finding Kyle waiting for her despite the early hour and the miserable weather, but nothing beat seeing him there, after weeks of absence, in the chilly fog, his hair still moist from a quick shower and his adorable smile firmly in place.

The smile quickly fell. "You can't wear that," Kyle said, looking at her as if she had misplaced her brain, "it smells of _them_, it doesn't belong here, no matter how great it makes you look." Kyle shook his head, his cheeks puffing slightly as he glowered at her fur-coat, "Nope, you're going to have to take it off, Mags," he deadpanned.

Mags put-out expression was replaced by a smirk. "_You're _going to have to take if off me if it bothers you so much," she said in playful tones, her hands on her hips.

Kyle's smile grew. He gaily grasped her arms and pushed her against the wall of her house.

Mags' heart began to race as Kyle winked, undoing her top button, still keeping her firmly against the cold surface. The winter breeze engulfed itself around her now exposed neck, biting at her searing skin.

Kyle's fingers fumbled over the button just above her breasts.

Which were still under two layers of opaque warm clothing... Mags would never have noticed had she not being struggling to pay attention despite the _distraction._ Her man's smile was strained, his eyes glassed over, far away.

Kyle's hands were suddenly grasping her shoulders. "I really missed you," he said, pulling her close and nuzzling her neck.

Mags let herself enjoy the hug, a smile dancing on her lips, but soon she pushed him away. "Me too, but, Kyle, we need to talk."

She felt almost sorry when she saw his face crumple. Her tone hadn't even been that solemn…

"Don't say that." Even his freckles had paled.

Mags cuffed him, a wry smile on her lips. "Don't be ridiculous." _Why was he afraid of anything she may say?_ "We're going to sit down until you can unbutton my coat without panicking."

His wide-eyed stare was so guileless that Mags wondered if he was as clueless about his issues as she had been. "Right." He flashed her a rueful smile. "Shouldn't be too hard."

Apparently it was. He got distracted, asked her questions, stole a passionate kiss or two, made her laugh with silly anecdotes, but her coat remained buttoned.

"This is stupid," he finally grumbled, his cheeks flaming.

Mags bit back a small smile. He was so cute like this. Yet this was all but stupid.

"Kyle, I just spend three months wondering if I was physically your type," Mags said with a strained smile. "I love that you respect me, but I want to know if you're holding back or if you really don't…"

Circe, this was awkward.

"Mags, you're perfect, don't…" Kyle looked down, his cheeks blazing. He grasped her hands and turned pleading eyes up to hers. "Listen, I enjoy being with you so much, I don't want to ruin it. I don't feel the need to rush things since it's already so good."

"Kyle, stop fretting about me, I _want _things to move faster between us," Mags said, slightly mortified to have to spell it out to him.

Kyle furrowed his brow, taken off guard. "You've never told me you love me," he said defensively.

"I care for you, I want to be with you, I miss you when I don't see you. But I feel there's still so much shadow. You've never made me feel desired, Kyle. I realize I need that," the young woman said, now just as defensive. "You're making me learn things about myself, and… I never thought I was vain but I hate that you seem totally oblivious to my body."

Kyle reached out with his hand, his face dissolving into a desperate plea for understanding. "I'm not like them, Mags. I'm not oblivious, you're beautiful. I don't want you to feel the need to make yourself so vulnerable just to give me a moment of pleasure. I'd _hate_ myself," he stressed, disgust seeping into his features.

"There is a difference between being a pig and finding your girlfriend sexy," Mags said, now feeling the impact of a night cut much too short as Kyle's words upset her more than they should have.

He'd seen his aunt forced at nine. Mags couldn't imagine how horrible that had been, but Kyle couldn't let it distort his whole conception of relationships!

Kyle frowned, he raised his arms before him as if he was trying to structure his mind. "I don't have to put you through that to be happy with you," he said slowly. "So many women feel the need to sacrifice themselves to keep their man, but I swear, I'm happy, I'm staying."

Mags eyes narrowed dangerously. She hoped he had no inkling of what he was saying, that he was just being stupid in a frantic attempt to reassure her. "Did you just call my mother a whore?"

"What?" Kyle exclaimed taking a step back. His face was a mix of shock, dismay and fear. "No! What's your mother got to do with anything?"

"Every woman who lies with a man pretends or _sacrifices _herself?" Mags hissed, wondering how a twenty year old could believe such a degrading thing. "Do you take girls for… for creatures so moved by instinct we'd go through anything to have kids or is it that we're so weak we need a man whatever goes? Or are we so vile we'd lie to the men we love about enjoying sex to keep the peace? So _condescending_ as to believe men so shallow they'd be happy to unwittingly hurt someone who means the world to them?" Mags continued, her faced flushed as her voice rose, each of her sentences feeding her own anger. "Do you think girls who have sex for fun are mentally addled then? And forget girls in general, are you even listening to _me_? I _want_ you to let yourself desire me because I sure as hell desire _you_." Mags exhaled, her shoulders aching from the tension she was putting on them. She felt like a cornered animal, as if she was _begging_ for attention like a pathetic little person.

Kyle was her boyfriend, and he thought she was abasing herself out of fear, that she was weak, with no self-respect. Bile scorched her throat.

"Don't you think you're taking your traumatized lesbian aunt a little too seriously?" She said through clenched teeth. Narissa was only twenty-five. Mags couldn't believe Kyle would let her have so much moral authority over him.

Her accusation had the effect of a thunder-shock.

Shock, bewilderment, anger, disgust, shame, fury. Mags could see them warring on Kyle's reddening face, alternating, mixing together, tensing his muscles while his veins throbbed in his neck as his brain followed a logic that Mags couldn't begin to grasp.

The victor took a deep breath, preparing herself for a violent explosion, for one of Kyle's clenched fists to smash into the nearest wall like she'd seen her uncle do in moments of fury. Instead, his emotions were replaced by a lost look. He swallowed painfully, his jaw locked in a grimace, as if she'd shredded his pride with a knife.

Kyle turned around and left without a word, his long strides soon swallowed up by the fog.

Mags stumbled, as if her heart had gained a stone. She caught herself against the wall, suddenly feeling the chill seeping in her bones. She buttoned up her collar, tears seeping into her eyes.

Had she been too harsh? She had known for months that Kyle lacked a solid sense of self-worth, but she'd never suspected it was due to an ingrained hate of men; and a paradoxically frightening contempt for women.

_Well, at least now they both were aware there was a problem. _

Mags forced herself to think positive as she walked home. There was no reason they couldn't both work through this. Better have him leave and think than pretend to accept her reasoning and change the subject.

She left towards town, glad the walls were thick and the windows solid because, although even her mother slept soundly at dawn when her night had started at four am.

Mags had been too eager to see Kyle to sleep longer, and now she knew she was much too agitated to go back to bed. No matter, she would go fetch Esperanza at the Corduroys' a little earlier than planned. It was far enough to allow her to put a smile back on her face for her sister.

Crushing a rolling wave of stinging resentment towards Narissa was proved much harder than Mags wished to admit.

* * *

_Date: Year 10, March. Seven months after Mags' victory._

Mags stopped in her tracks.

"Are you okay?" She asked through the door.

Mags wasn't so surprised to glimpse Esperanza standing in her underwear in front of her full sized-mirror, what surprised her more was to see her sister awake before the sun.

"Do I look fat?"

Mags stared, waiting for her brain to indicate she had misheard her sister's words. _What?_ She stepped inside and critically examined Esperanza's slightly shivering form.

_Fat_. Mags felt a wry grin creep up her lips. Esperanza had gained weight in the last year, they all had, relishing in daily filling meals and in the energy boost given by such a welcome change in diet, but Esperanza was only fat in the sense her bones didn't show anymore and her figure was filling out.

Mags looked closer, wondering what would make her gorgeous sister feel so self-conscious. Fat was an insult that mean soft, lazy, hoarder, _collaborator_. Mags could do little about the people who resented their new-found wealth, but she also knew Esperanza was confident enough to recognize jealously for what it was.

_Soft._ Her sister wasn't weak, but while active, she wasn't fit, not compared to all the other senior students who had a physical job on the side. Mags nodded slightly. That and the fact Esperanza looked fifteen rather than thirteen would probably feed her issues, no matter all her claims about not caring about fitting in. Girls could be vicious to each other, especially now that Esperanza was beginning to attract male attention.

"So I _am_ fat," Esperanza said in resigned tones.

"No, you're healthy," Mags replied firmly. "You're eating properly, so you're growing up faster than most of your schoolmates. Well," Mags said with a rueful smile, "maybe you could cut down on those bread slices soaked in olive oil you eat whenever you want a bite between meals, but, if it bothers you, I recently learned that Marquise passed her self-defense classes with the highest distinction."

Esperanza's eyes widened in delight. "She'd teach me?" She said eagerly. "I was beginning to think I'd have to give up on that."

"She agreed with minimal fussing, and she wants me to learn too," Mags said, rolling her eyes at the memory.

"_Miss Mags, you think it's only your sister people will go for? You're in too or I'm out."_

"_Serious people will have guns, Marquise."_

"_Don't be difficult. I won't always be around to cover your perky backside."_

Esperanza squealed, throwing her arms around her sister. "That's so awesome! When do we start?"

"I don't know, let's aim for next week," Mags said, grinning at the raven-haired girl's enthusiasm.

"We could use one of the empty victor's houses to practice."

"Or our own empty attic," Mags suggested with an endeared smile. "I have to go see Marquise this morning anyway, about El Cambio**."**

El Cambio - called _The Change_ where ears loyal to the Capitol could hear - was the yearly ceremony during which all the old lines, cables, sheets, nets and other ropes of every ship were replaced. That single event represented half of Marlin's family sales and was the only major tradition, barring funerals, that hadn't been prohibited by the Capitol.

El Cambio had everyone in town who could swim in the frigid mid-March waters splashing in the ocean to outfit the moored ships, or simply to enjoy what was undoubtedly the single liveliest day in Creneis Town, and one everyone looked forward to.

But there was a darker side to El Cambio. In the decade Mags had lived there, never had one year gone by without the day claiming a casualty. Contests, dares and showy displays of strength and skill on this day were just as rooted in tradition, and too many underestimated the ocean, blinded by pride or thirst to prove themselves. Tomorrow the seas would be calm and the sky clear, but even calm, the ocean was quick to remind people of its indomitable power.

Months before, Marquise had piloted the motorboat that had led them to the reefs where Rio and the two from Sickleport had lain wounded despite Ajax's willingness to leave the kidnappers to drown. Only those crafts were small and maneuverable enough to patrol such crowded seas and Mags had now to convince her friend to go well beyond her job description and give up one of her few days of rest to protect the lives of the very people who treated peacekeepers as coldly as they dared.

* * *

_Date: Year 10, March. Seven months after Mags' victory._

The hoarse cries of seagulls were drowned by a thousand chanting and hollering voices as people rushed to remove the old lines from the vessels, carried by the frantic joyful atmosphere which morphed hard work in festive play. Those who did not want to brave the gelid water were sorting the lines and nets on the beach and prepared the ground for the huge bonfire to be lit with those too rotten or threaded for domestic use.

"You made it," Mags said, paddling forcefully to keep blood flowing to her limbs.

Marlin's proud grin didn't erase all the tiredness on his sleep-deprived face.

"Yeah, but I thought we'd kick it, I can't even remember what waking up rested feels like," he said, yawning dramatically. "Massive orders have been coming in from the Capitol for a month, for ropes and cord, braided, plaited, ready to tie knots... The Vintmoors' got just as ransacked. If we hadn't received that extra shipment from Eight, we'd have had to postpone El Cambio. I hope we've seen the end of it." His teeth were chattering madly. "Let's get to the Fox," he said, pointing at the largest of the moored crafts, Glynn booked us a spot to remove her sheets and a dry deck sounds glorious right now."

Mags grinned. "Sure, let's move."

Large hands grabbed her hips as she swam for the ship. She instinctively shut her mouth before being pulled underwater.

Kyle's laugh filled the air as Mags emerged, spluttering and hastily removing her sticky hair from her face.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, his eyes pointedly stopping on his girlfriend's breasts, slightly compressed in her one piece swimsuit. His smile broadened into a full appreciative grin.

Mags colored and tilted his chin back up, forcing Kyle's glittering eyes back on her face, but she glowed with fierce happiness, for this was the very man who had been thwarted by a coat mere weeks before.

Marlin cleared his throats, a wry grin on his lips. "If Mags' place is too small, Mortimer has a glorious big stuffed bed," he offered with a straight face, "I can trick him out of the house for you."

"Marlin! You're a terrible brother," Mags exclaimed, erupting into peals of laughter. She jumped into Kyle's arms and pressed her salty lips to his, beaming as he lifted her out of the water. The chill alone was not responsible for all the goosebumps on her arms. "I love you," she whispered. And she meant it, because now, it felt truly right.

Kyle's expression only made the words truer.

Mags was still awed he had accepted her apology the day after their vicious fight but, most of all, he had _listened._ They weren't having wild sex on tables, but Kyle was undeniably growing more comfortable with both their bodies. The young woman had never felt so beautiful.

She gladly wrapped the thick towel she was offered as she climbed onto the Swamp Fox's deck. From there, she could see the five finished houses on the edge of town and the twelve others who would be inhabited before fall. A proud smile drew itself on her lips.

"Hola," Glynn called. She was perched on the lowest mast, her naked legs swinging suggestively.

Mags grinned as they greeted her.

"Off to work, slackers," Glynn answered, throwing a pair of protective gloves to Marlin. His calloused hands were red and raw from the insane couple of weeks he had had. Mags really wondered what the Capitol needed so much rope for.

"You can't be the boss around here. They're not that crazy," Marlin shot back with a grin.

"Off to work, slackers," a burly young man with an friendly face echoed from behind them, colored marine snakes moving on his skin as he flexed his thick arms. "And it's_ Boss_ to you," he said with a smile, his voice just serious enough to have Mags decide to play along.

"You heard the bosun, come on," Glynn said, gesturing to the ropes attached to the sails,"if you're not warm enough to drop the towels in ten minutes, you're not working hard enough," she added in playful warning, starting to undo the knots on her side.

* * *

Loud bell tolls caused every man woman and child in the water and the boats to freeze.

Tall chairs had been taken out of the town's storage shed in the early morning and sharp-eyed volunteers watched out for people in danger. The lifeguards rang bells whenever they needed people to become alert to someone drowning in the vicinity.

It was the fourth toll in three hours, and there had been no serious accidents, but this time, one of the men was running with his red signal flag towards the reefs where many older children and teenagers were playing games.

Mags saw an arm and a head emerge from the water, flailing to get attention. Far from the reefs. _Too far,_ and moving out much too fast even for a well-manned rowboat.

Panic rippled through the crowd. _Dorien Gibbs_. Mags heart skipped a beat as she recognized the name. The drifting boy was in Esperanza's class.

But near the reefs and the reckless children, because it was undoubtedly the most dangerous place during El Cambio, Marquise had been patiently waiting for someone to prove testosterone and sense didn't mix and wondering what Mags had possibly done to deserve having her willingly catch a cold on a lurching boat during her rest-day to save degenerate children.

The gulls' calls were loud and clear when the peacekeeper helped the exhausted boy on her boat and led him back to his friends, who now stood stiffly, guilt written all over their features as they realized how close they'd come to mourn the boy and who now feared what the blonde law enforcer would ask of them.

"My pleasure," Marquise said pointedly as an older boy rushed to help the coughing Dorien.

A youth with reddish-brown hair whistled from the water. "Thanks, Ma'am," he shouted merrily.

Marquise lifted her hand to her head in lazy salute. When Dorien, shivering and still struggling to breathe, removed the towel off his shoulders cheekily mimed diving back into the strong waters, Marquise gave him the finger and turned the boat away, causing the assembled people to erupt into gales of laughter.

Mags' grin painfully dug in her cheeks, but she couldn't seem to reduce it.

Kyle squeezed her hip with a smile of his own. "She's okay for a peacekeeper," he granted.

Mags had rarely felt so happy.

* * *

_Date: Year 10, April. Eight months after Mags' victory._

"Mags, I need you to see something. Now," Ajax said, his steps striking the ground of the former desalinization factory with unnerving violence. Marquise hurried behind him, running to keep up the pace.

Mags tensed, tearing her eyes away from the scaffolding and active workers. For the Patrol Leader to come and get her himself half an hour's walk from the barracks... Ajax's disabused expression caused Mags' breath to hitch in fear.

"Look at those ledgers. Compare them with the ones your mother gave us." He said, impatiently putting his finger on the thing she was supposed to notice when she failed to see more than columns of numbers.

Mags frowned. "The numbers are bigger there."

"Genius," Ajax said mirthlessly, "unless your mother exaggerated the sums you spent, your boyfriend has been stealing."

Mags shook her head. She didn't believe it. If only because Kyle was a terrible liar and she could see when he was guilty miles away.

She said so.

The tall peacekeeper granted her a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Then hurry up and investigate."

"I'll talk to him right now," Mags said, all but bolting away.

"It could be that he can't add to save his life," Marquise said with a shrug, trying to be supportive.

Mags greatly appreciated it, but, unfortunately, Kyle knew how to count.

"By asking for sums five to ten percent bigger than what's actually needed every single time?" Ajax snorted. "We should be the ones handling this. You have a day because it's you." His lips curled in contempt, "don't let his pretty face fool you."

Mags felt a shiver run up her spine. Five to ten percent every single time? The lingering giddiness from El Cambio evaporated, replaced by burrowing dread.

* * *

"Kyle, who's been keeping the ledgers for you?"

"What?" Kyle said, his frown deepening as he saw Mags winded and flushed from the desperate sprint she'd taken around town to find him.

"You do a million things for me, I really appreciate it," Mags said, the words rushing out of her mouth like a train heading for a collision. "Now I need to know who's been telling you the prices and writing in the ledgers."

They locked stares. Kyle didn't last five seconds.

"Narissa," he admitted. It was clear on his face that he was wondering why his girlfriend was so worked up. "She wanted to feel useful and I made sure she learned to do it properly. I figured it was okay."

Mags could have sworn she heard the air around her shatter. "Did she explicitly ask you not to tell me?" She whispered, blanching.

Kyle eyed her in confusion. He stopped to think and frowned. "Yes, I think. She's proud and… Is there a problem?

Little details that had been bothering Mags resurfaced.

"Do you realize your cousins wear their worst clothes every time they come to see me? And they're always hungry too despite it usually being afternoon and you not being that poor."

Kyle blushed. "Yes," he said, his lips in a tight line. "Narissa is… Listen, I tried to tell her, but she won't hear it. She's a bit of a miser and thinks she's entitled to silly things." Kyle dropped his arms in defeat. "I don't want to upset her. She's been through a lot, and I know it's very rude of her but do you really mind that she made you buy the twins a few set of clothes or give them meals?" Kyle frowned, paling slightly. "They didn't steal anything from your house, did they?"

_Clothes_. He thought she was throwing a fit over clothes for ten-year-olds?

"No, I don't think so," Mags said, now realizing she'd have to check, "but roughly seven percent of everything I've spent on workers in the last two months, maybe more, is in your aunt's pockets or has simply vanished."

She desperately hoped Narissa still had the money, or blood would be spilled.

Mags' temper flared when she saw Kyle looked appalled but not that surprised. "You suspected?" She said, spitting the words out as if they'd burn her.

"Hey, I didn't know," Kyle hastily said, "She's my aunt, I -"

"You," she said, jabbing a finger at his chest, "never checked when it was _your_ job, and you know she's a gold digger, and now I have to tell Patrol Leader Ajax he was right about the discrepancies, except with a theft of that magnitude, even if the money reappears..." Mags voice trailed off as the word avox remained blocked in her throat. "Your cousins are over eight, even I won't be able to save her," she said, her lips trembling.

"You can't tell them -"

"With Marquise aware that Irvette and your aunt are more than friends? I've already been protecting her, Kyle," Mags exclaimed, searching for something she could tear at to evacuate her mounting rage.

The last of color fled Kyle's face and he stumbled. There was nothing to lean on, so he awkwardly crossed his arms. "I… I… How did Ajax see a discrepancy? I did all the accounts on the workers!"

An idiot. She was dating an _idiot_ and she had never noticed. What did that say about her?

"Since there's also the materials and shipping ledger, and a plan of all future expenses to make sure I don't exceed what the Capitol gives me, Mama has been listing everything I spend. It's just a list, but enough to still see there are problems," Mags explained through clenched teeth.

Kyle put his face in his hands and Mags suddenly knew that the thought he had the only copy was the reason he hadn't investigated on his aunt. She could understand he would make allowances for Narissa's greed: the woman was his only family and they'd taken care of each other since the war, but this… Kyle would shatter the trust peacekeepers had in district workers, destroy all the independence Mags had acquired.

How could not upsetting his aunt be his priority? More important than his girlfriend's safety, than Creneis Town itself?

Mags' eyes misted over, because she realized the answer had been obvious since the beginning. She had just wanted to believe that it didn't matter and wouldn't get between them.

"And of course, your mother gave it to the pisscops," Kyle said, his fists clenched in distress.

"If you blame Mama, I'm going to hit you," Mags said coldly.

"I'll get you the money back," Kyle said, grasping her shoulders. "I must, I will, Mags," he promised vehemently. "Invent that she thought there was an extra tax or something and stored away the gold waiting for the Capitol to collect it. She's my aunt! I can't have her killed."

A tear escaped her eyes. She wished so badly to tell Kyle there was a way, but it was too late.

"You should have thought of that earlier," she said hoarsely. "I trusted you, Kyle. More than anyone almost, I…" Mags shivered as the fabric of her reality unraveled. "It seems I just put you in danger by giving you and Narissa power. I ruined everything. I should have stayed away from you," her voice broke as guilt choked her. If only she'd dumped less of her responsibilities on Kyle... "You'd have been okay."

"Don't be stupid, I love you. I'd never have wanted to stay away," Kyle said, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she turned her face away from him.

"Can't you fix it?" He asked, hope etched on his features.

Mags stared. Kyle had always seemed to have a glow about him, something that warmed her just by standing close. Now the young woman couldn't stop shivering. She tasted bitter ash in her mouth, and her feelings, just as strong as they had been an hour before, had morphed into a chafing rope squeezing at her heart.

_Fix it._

Was this what she would always do? Cover up others' mistakes? Would more people steal because they'd know she'd make sure they'd come through unscathed?

"Get me the money. Hope there's everything," she whispered, if only to have him leave.

Betrayal tore at her, sinking its fangs deep in her chest. _How could she not have seen it?_

* * *

"It wasn't him," Mags told Ajax. _It's still his fault_, her brain shouted while her heart screamed in denial. "You said twenty-four hours, Patrol Leader?" Mags said, struggling to be polite.

The tall peacekeeper gave a minute nod. "I'll only interfere before tomorrow afternoon if you need me," he said, pity entering his dark eyes. "That's why we have vows among peacekeepers, Girl. You never know a man's mettle and loyalty until it's too late if you don't test it beforehand."

Mags nodded briskly, not caring for his lessons right now. She felt like such a fool. The fluttering in her chest that had accompanied every thought about Kyle was now wall of thorns pressing down her lungs. Every breath was torture.

Kyle hadn't meant to hurt her, but it changed nothing. He was blind to consequences, or had chosen to be. Just like with Esperanza.

_She should have known._

Today she would do her best to save the life of his thieving aunt. She owed Kyle that, if only because he had made her discover that she could trust a stranger and love, because he had made her laugh hard and often enough chase away her nightmares, and because it was when she had traced the paths his freckles made on his face with her fingers that she had known she wanted to be a mother.

Mags had given Kyle a second chance but she was not fool enough to give him a third, not if it would mean having to defend her own life in front of Achlys before she had even mentored her first Games.

* * *

**Wow this has turned into something more complex and long than I had imagined, but I'm loving writing every part of it. Thank you for all your feedback and support. Mags is a minor character and objectively, this story is all OCs, so I'm flattered you're all allowing me to drag you along in this ride.**

******One more chapter before the tenth Games.**

******A question for you: should Mags try to protect Narissa? I'm very interested by your opinions here, because it's a very tricky situation.**

**Please review^^.**


	44. Fix it

**If this were a trilogy, this would be the end of the second book. It picks up right after the previous chapter.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

"Thank you all for coming so quickly, and for the house, Cara," Mags said, struggling to keep her voice louder than a whisper as she sat down in the Corduroys' living room. She wouldn't have had the strength to climb all the way back up to her house.

"Well, from your expression the world's about to end so…"

"_Glynn_," Cara said with a stern look.

"I meant, we're always thrilled to help, Mags," the girl said with a concerned smile.

Mags lacked the courage to manage even a hint of a smile, but the warm words lessened the tremble in her limbs. Slightly.

"What is it?" Marlin said, sitting down between Glynn and Angelites.

Mags buried her face in her arms. She was so out of her depth she'd felt on the verge of fainting for the last hour. "Narissa stole the equivalent of four men's yearly salary the by falsifying the ledgers. Ajax has seen the discrepancy, Kyle has gone to find the money, but…"

The silence was deafening. Four pairs of incredulous eyes stared at her in shock. Mags' shoulders sagged. A stubborn shining part of her had hoped for a miracle solution.

Her mother was the first to speak. "You_ cannot_ allow it, Mags," she said, livid. "This isn't petty theft committed in a moment of weakness. Four men?_ Maldita Mujer," _she cursed, her voice a wrathful hiss_. _ "It could destroy everything..."

Everything. The victor's stomach cramped so badly she feared she would throw up. Wipe away _everything_.

"If Irvette is involved too, we can host Lethe and Corentin until a solution is found."

Mags lifted her eyes to see Glynn's father walk in in a stained working blouse, concern etched on his weathered features.

His wife nodded after a pause, her face now a mask of stone.

Mags dropped her burning eyes. She hadn't even thought of the boys. "Why'd he ask the ledger, Mama? Why did Ajax want to know?"

"He heard an overseer saying something about the seventy-two workers and he remembered the monthly report listed seventy-three so he asked me, and I said seventy-two. He decided to double check and found the rest of the _mistakes_." Angelites stood up walked up to her daughter, her hands tightening on Mags' arms, "I'm so sorry, Preciosa."

Mags let her head fall against her mother's soft chest, holding on to the illusion of safety her warmth promised.

"If Kyle didn't touch the false ledgers, he should be safe," Marlin said, his prominent eyebrows knit in a tight line.

"He's her ex now I hope," Glynn said with a glower. "You can't allow yourself to be irresponsible like that when so much is at stake. It doesn't change that he's decent," she said, her face softening as sadness entered her eyes, "but this is too serious to ignore."

"Ex all right," Mags muttered, suppressing the urge to scream. She didn't want to believe it. She wanted to get out and flee, far away where such problems didn't exist, but she couldn't. She had to fix this. "I need to know what I'll tell Ajax, and how. I don't want Kyle to suffer. He'll never stand by to watch his aunt been taken away. He feels responsible for her."

She'd asked too much of Kyle and now she was paying the price, and so was he. She had been so selfish, holding on to how light and joyful he made her feel, like a child to their blanket, when she should have been an adult.

"He won't be avoxed if she's the guilty one," Marlin pointed out, deep in thought as he stared somberly at his lap.

"He could challenge the peacekeepers' decision," Cara whispered, "it's plain as day that he hates them. They will be glad to get rid of him if he acts out."

Mags knew that all too well. He'd barely started warming up to Marquise and the loathing in his eyes when he thought the others couldn't see him... Mags couldn't even bear to imagine him wearing the red, his tongue cut off and his head bowed.

"And surely we cannot let the poor woman be avoxed. She…" Cara sighed, compassion creasing her features. "Narissa has a phobia of losing control, of being overpowered again. She is ill even if her body is sound. It invades every aspect of her life –"

"Ma," Glynn cut in, "just because she has excuses to explain why she is power hungry to the point of self-destruction doesn't mean the harm she causes is less," she said, her tone very respectful as she disagreed with her mother, but her words cutting. "Criminals don't have to be evil. They're those who are a true danger for the rest of us. There are lots of people who've been through hell during the war and are honest."

"We're talking about _avoxing_, Glynn," the woman replied sternly.

"And about Mags getting _killed _by the Capitol if they begin to suspect she's a threat," Glynn said. "Mags, and Angelites, and maybe even _us_. Narissa isn't the only potential victim here. Obviously, if there is _any_ alternative that guarantees Narissa will become harmless, I'll be very happy to take it."

"Can we prove her innocent and then have her move in another town with Irvette and the twins?" Marlin suggested, his arms open in question.

"How much did you tell Kyle and how much does he tell his aunt?" Angelites asked, leaning down towards her distraught daughter with poorly concealed apprehension.

"Too much," Mags whispered, feeling her limbs had turned to liquid. "Too much," she repeated brokenly. She had dismissed the woman as a minor nuisance, someone she could tolerate and had no reason to antagonize. It was all coming down crashing on her.

Marlin abruptly stood up. "I'll be back."

Mags was much too preoccupied to be curious.

* * *

**Marlin's point of view**

"How much did you tell Kyle and how much does he tell his aunt?"

The course of action was suddenly crystal clear.

It was Mags or Narissa Sumac. In a well-made universe choices like this wouldn't exist. Marlin yearned to hide like a cowed child, to disappear in the ground and wait until this madness was over, but he was Mags' friend and Mags loved Kyle. Only the president of worthless cowards would let Mags take responsibility for what would happen to Kyle and his aunt.

"Don't let Mags out for at least a couple of hours, more if you can. I can't let this go on," Marlin whispered to Glynn.

He took her intent stare for assent and stood up. "I'll be back," he told the others.

He almost slammed the door as he rushed out of the Corduroys' house, cutting the air with his arms and pumping breaths into his lungs to make the best of his already too short time.

Mags was the strongest person Marlin knew. Sustained by inhuman purpose and an unending supply of energy, he couldn't believe all she had put in motion in so little time. She kept going, no matter what. The Games, the pressure, the hate and cruel gossip of the morons she tried to help… But Marlin had seen she wasn't happy, that chains weighted her down. Until Kyle. Kyle made her glow, first only sometimes, than whenever he was around and finally even when he wasn't.

Kyle had come craving a mother, someone to tell him who he was and giving him a cause, a place to be. Mags had found unconditional devotion and someone who needed her. She hadn't needed emotional support as badly as the freedom to be eighteen. Kyle had given her that, until Mags had realized it's not a mother she wanted to be. Marlin had thought they'd soon be over by then. He'd kept it to himself because it wasn't his place to say but amazingly, Kyle had changed. The freckled puppy that had been following his best friend around was turning into a real man. It had been right impressive.

Mags had worn that smile after that starlit night the week before. As if she _knew _instead of just being curious. Marlin hadn't needed an announcement: Mags and Kyle had just gotten_ very_ serious.

The sandy-haired young man grit his teeth together, cursing Narissa with all his might.

He spat on the ground, trying to get rid of the sand the strong wind dumped everywhere. It wasn't enough that the woman couldn't stand letting go of Kyle, keeping him on a tight emotional leash, all but telling him he was an ungrateful loser whenever he didn't tend to her every whim, no, she had to screw with Mags' life too, with the lives of the workers that depended on her, of the homeless and of everyone who hoped in change.

He agreed with Glynn. Narissa had to be stopped. Many people had lived through the war and many were decent and honest. Decent wasn't always easy, but everyone had a choice. He was furious to see Mags plagued by guilt for something as normal as having trusted her boyfriend.

The stout teenager stopped running when he reached the construction site and saw the person he was looking for.

Even with his purpose, he faltered slightly and found himself wiping his sweaty face in an effort to make himself presentable. He pulled his light jacket back on to hide the soaked sandy shirt that clung to his broad chest.

_Circe, the sun beat down hard._

Peacekeepers were bulls or tigers, muscles with the occasional brain, and there was one constant: you were prey. Marquise was different. She had that challenging smile; the one that said, 'Who knows, maybe I'm approachable.' She made Marlin's mouth go dry with her long smooth legs, creamy skin and flirtatious attitude, but the uniform was a slap in the face every time he caught himself finding her attractive, as if there was a wall of spikes between her and anyone who dared stare. And she did _everything_ within the limits of propriety to make men stare.

Glynn, with her light step, playful superior attitude, carefully cut hair and colorful bracelets, was feminine; Marquise wasn't_ just_ feminine. She was a lady cat of noble breed, gliding through them as if she had no care for them mere mortals, acting as she pleased, her hair and makeup perfect, as if she was about to dine with the President herself. Marquise saved a kid one day and ordered three guys to move in new furniture in her quarters for free the next in a blatant abuse of power. She wasn't cruel, but Marlin never knew what to expect.

He just knew Mags liked her and Glynn agreed she was dependable. That was enough for him.

"Do you have news about the ledgers problem?" He said, careful not to spill any secrets.

"Are you one of those friends?" Marquise said, looking at him as if she wasn't sure she really wanted to talk to him.

And Marquise was the one who decided what the conversation was about... Those stinking people all thought they were better than you.

Marlin swallowed back his irritation. He couldn't understand how Mags managed. There was no time to waste.

"Those who hang around waiting for their female friends to kiss them," Marquise explained, mild curiosity in her black-lined eyes.

Marlin paled at the thought of dating Mags. "I need a girl I won't get killed if I screw up," he blurted, feeling a sudden pang for poor Kyle. "Mags needs a guy she can talk about the Games with. She'll mentor and I don't want to know the details, _ever_," he said with a shudder.

There was enough evil in mentoring to make Marlin want to retch. He wasn't the man for it, he knew that. Being Mags' friend was quite enough. He'd have fled long ago if she wasn't so brilliant. Every day spent next to her put his family in danger, but it was worth it and she was worth it, so he sucked it up and did his best.

"The pretty one with the big mouth then?"

Marlin actually laughed. "Glynn? I want someone less smart I can actually impress on a regular basis."

Glynn didn't stop at your eyes when she stared. With her, all your dirty secrets and weaknesses were plain as day. She was gorgeous, loyal and sharp as a knife, but scary. Marlin wasn't ashamed to admit he'd like a girl who would cry in front of the Hunger Games, someone with real sensitivity. He was a simple guy.

"You sound sane," Marquise said after a pause. Marlin didn't know what to make of her small smile. He hoped question time was over. There was no time.

"About the ledgers," she said, losing the smile, "I know Mags said it wasn't Kyle, which means it's Narissa, since Irvette can barely read. What do you want?"

Marlin gathered his courage. He'd have called for a doctor had anyone told him he'd ever trust a peacekeeper like that.

"Have you already told Ajax about Narissa or can we plot? Mags is falling apart and I don't want her to have to make this decision herself. If I screw up, I'll own it."

The blonde turned to face him. Truly face him. Marlin realized she was taller than him then, even if only by half an inch, and with her face that serious, Marquise looked like an actual peacekeeper. Dangerous.

"What does Mags need?" Marquise said, gesturing for him to walk with her.

_What_ was easy. It's the _how_ that was a mess. "Kyle and Narissa, and the twins, to be okay. Especially Kyle, but they're breaking up."

Marquise's face fell.

_So she really did care about Mags._ Marlin stood up straighter, more confident that this wasn't a huge mistake.

"Narissa's a portraitist, a good one, Irvette bakes solid pots," he said, "don't you need that somewhere, even in another District?"

"You can't cross districts like this, Marlin," Marquise said, biting her lower lip, "I don't have that kind of power. I'm just a girl who joined because I needed a job, had no better prospects, and didn't want to live at my parents' and be a load until I was thirty or have to marry the first decent guy I ran into to have some money."

Marlin's heart sank. Keeping it legal sent all the good solutions down the drain. Avoxing for Narissa, avoxing, or at the very least twenty lashes, for Kyle for gross neglect, the kids taken from Irvette, made wards of Panem and given the jobs anyone who had a choice refused. Wards of Panem didn't see thirty.

"In Four then? They need to get out of here. Maybe Kyle can stay," Marlin said. He had no idea if that would be better or worse for Mags. "We can't have Narissa avoxed because Kyle will do something stupid then and if she talks about what she learned on Mags through Kyle to escape avoxing…" Marlin's voice trailed off, his jaw clenched in anger. Mags didn't deserve this shit happening to her.

"How do I justify it?" Marquise said, looking desperate to help him now but just as stuck as he was.

"You don't, you leave now on a hovercraft and drop them in Orithyia and order the mayor to give them a free house. Bluff and have them obey you."

Marquise gave a weak chuckle. "You people all think we're all powerful and don't help because we're loathsome. I _can't_, Marlin." Her eyes then flashed with a dark dangerous light.

She'd had an idea. Marlin knew he would hate it, but he nodded, because they had to do _something_.

"Or we kill Narissa now, discretely," Marquise said in soft tones, "no one will know, and Kyle will go manage the accounts of the peacekeepers in Galene with the twins. That I can do, because they need an accountant."

Marlin froze. Her narrowed his eyes at Marquise: "Excuse me? Put the killing thought on hold a minute," he said, wanting to address one topic at the time. "Galene? Mags said it was dreadful."

"Glass blowers, one of them talked for hours with Mags, he's decent and can afford it. The twins will get apprenticed if we pull a few strings. They'll get a safe job without making themselves targets, and the community is close knit enough Kyle will not stay an outsider."

A half smile cracked Marlin's lips. It was less worse than anything else they'd come up with. "That'll have to do." His smile then died. "Kill Narissa?"

"We reveal her guilt but only after we find her having committed suicide."

Marlin's throat clenched painfully. He couldn't breathe. Making murder look like suicide? Was that common practice?

"Irvette?" He whispered, his mind screaming denial. Narissa wasn't supposed to die. Punished, yes, but not die!

"She'll keep a low profile and stay alive or die. She can go with Kyle too. I don't care," Marquise said, a fearsome tightness to her features.

But not as fearsome as her calm voice.

Marlin's throat was dry. "Do you mean that?"

Marquise smiled thinly. "What's worse, killing or watching them destroy Mags?"

_Tiger._ It was there too, just less blatant.

Marlin's skin itched madly from the wet shirt clinging to his chest, and his mind was a dusty cave, with no good ideas to be found. How could that be the best solution? How had things gotten so bad?

He stared back at Marquise, his queasiness giving place to resignation.

Mags was fighting against the biggest predator of them all, maybe they did need more tigers. But this was murder, there was no going back. Marlin had to be sure. He couldn't kill a woman like that.

"All the ways that keep Narissa alive have Kyle dying because Patrol Leader Ajax will execute for the theft," Marquise said as the heavy silence grew unbearable. "There needs to be someone to take the blame. He will report to the President, and trust me, Marlin, I've seen heads fall from the highest positions in One for matters of corruption or theft. It's the one thing President Achlys_ cannot_ tolerate." Her tight features dissolved into a grimace, and Marlin was relieved to see she was struggling too. "The Lieutenant ordered to compare the numbers with a sample of handwriting from all the suspects, Marlin, he's not a fool. To fix this, we'd have had to find out before Patrol Leader Ajax."

If that was reality, then there was little else to do. Marlin took a deep breath. He'd have to be solid, or he had no place being Mags' friend. He said he'd claim responsibility. There was no backing out.

"How do we frame a suicide?"

"Go find Irvette, the twins and Kyle," Marquise ordered. "I'll take care of it."

Marlin felt something lodge itself in his throat. He hadn't come to ask the woman to become a murderer. It was so wrong. "Marquise, have you already killed?"

The peacekeeper's eyes were cold as ice. "Alaric has and he owes me a big service. I'll go with him and tell him only what he needs to know. Peacekeeping is my job, Marlin, let me do it and get the others out of the way."

Marlin knew when to stop arguing. "We could have only an hour left, Ma'am. Glynn's keeping Mags. Let's do this."

* * *

"I found over half of the money," Kyle said, wiping sweat out of his eyes. He looked close to losing it. "I need more time, it can't be far, I know who she gave it to but he hasn't delivered, so he'll give a refund, he has to."

"Take your aunt's friend, and the twins and come with me." Marlin said, trying to be stern and give nothing away.

Kyle didn't even ask before rushing out. Marlin would've felt proud of himself if he'd not known this would end with a corpse. First Narissa, now him, Kyle had a piss poor record of trusting people.

Cara Corduroy's words echoed in the young man's mind. _She is ill even if her body is sound._

He'd pay for this all his life.

* * *

**Mags' POV**

The last hours had been a blur. A nightmare.

_Marlin had come back, pale and red-eyed. _

_"Narissa committed suicide," he said in haunted tones, "Marquise found her."_

_The shriek of chairs scraping the wooden floor pierced through her shock._

_Her mother and Glynn had bolted to their feet._

_"Marlin!" Glynn exclaimed, her hand over her mouth as shock deformed her face. She then seemed to mentally slap herself and fell back in her chair. "Well, I respect that Narissa did the right thing, keeping everyone else safe, even if there's little to rejoice about," she said in choked tones. She was staring straight at the stout teenager, fierce sadness written on her face until she stood back up and went to hug him._

_Marlin returned the hug, clinging to her with a desperation that tore a whimper from Mags._

_Chaos. Nothing made sense anymore._

Kyle, Irvette and the twins in Galene. Why was this happening? Life was a spinning out of control, galloping like a horse gone mad when Mags just wanted it to pause, to _rewind_. She mourned yesterday, longing twisting her insides. Painful cramps brought tears to her eyes as she ran towards the train station.

Kyle. Mags didn't even want to think about the other three, about how they were feeling. She just wanted Kyle. He was there, on the single bench, waiting for her.

He rushed to her and grasped her shoulders, a wild look in his eyes as she panted for breath.

"I had it, so much money Mags, I was going to find it all," he said, his voice shaking. "Why did she do that? Narissa… I stopped her before, but that was a long time ago. She stopped hating life, she really did." He shook his head, looking in so much pain that tears spilled from Mags' eyes. "Marquise said they found her at the market, at the back of her stall, on the ground. She stabbed herself multiple times in the wrist with the syringe she used to dose the expensive dyes. Air, lots of it. Air killed her. No one heard anything. Who knew _air_ could kill?"

He stepped away from Mags and slammed his foot down on the old bench, making the wood crack and splinter.

"Why did she do that?" He whispered, turning back towards her with pleading reddened eyes.

Mags swallowed. Anything, she would do anything to erase that pain. "She was your guardian Kyle. The Capitol would have asked for a culprit. I think... I think she couldn't let you take her place. She did the noble thing. The brave thing."

Mags felt horrible for every bad thought she had ever had towards Narissa and hated that her suicide made this situation so much simpler. Why hadn't she checked the ledgers? How could she have been that lazy? She'd never had a real talk with Narissa. And now Narissa was dead. Mags would never know the woman's reasons, her true character or her dreams.

_Dead. _

Everything was wrong.

"Noble… But how could she?" Kyle's breath hitched. "Galene." He didn't comment but Mags didn't need words to hear the soundless screams. "I'll see you again?"

"Kyle, we're over," she said, her voice breaking. "Galene is the only way to avoid them investigating you. I couldn't bear the thought of you dying." _Dying_ b_ecause of me._ "You can't come back."

"We're over," Kyle repeated numbly. He grasped her hand, holding on so tight it was painful. "Must we be?"

His desperate words almost broke her.

They'd just started truly being. The shared intimacy that had felt like a glorious triumph, the final proof that they could truly be, that they were stronger than the events that had tried to break them, was now a searing reminder of all she had lost. Her body ached for his. She wanted to sit on his lap and cling to him until she was forced to let go, but she knew that if she gave in to that wish, she would shatter. She didn't want Kyle to remember her weeping and shivering. He wanted him to remember hope.

Mags tore away from his pleading green eyes. "We can't live happy together, not in this Panem."

Hoarse laughter escaped Kyle's bloodless lips. "Can we live happy at all?"

* * *

_Date: Year 10, April. Eight months after Mags' victory._

Mags dropped the hand holding the medicine she was mechanically about to put in her mouth.

Mechanically. It defined almost everything she did now. Everything was flavorless, shallow, empty. She intellectually knew that the construction projects were just as important now than they had been a week before, but her interest had left at the same time as the train for Galene.

She opened her fingers. Two oval yellow pills, for vessel elasticity. The first of a series of six she took every evening.

What if those drugs had addled her brain? Surely she couldn't have been that blind and stupid naturally. Even Marquise and Marlin struggled to meet her eyes anymore.

Mags pushed all her pills to the side. She wouldn't touch them again.

* * *

_Date: Year 10, April. Eight months after Mags' victory._

Esperanza slammed the door as she came back from school. "Cay's such a major jerk, I should dump him." She froze, her hand flying to her mouth when she saw Mags. "I thought Mama... You're already back?" She said weakly.

"You're dating him? You're dating someone?" Mags said, frowning. Why was she learning just now?

Her sister blushed. "I... I thought you didn't want to hear it. I figured it'd be cruel to prattle about boys when..." her voice died, but the meaning was clear.

"No, no," Mags whispered, shaking her head. She was annoyed at herself, at how weak and devoid of ambition she felt. She had to be stronger than this. "I want to hear it. I want to try and make things normal again." Mags inhaled sharply. "I want to be around lively people."

"Marquise is upset you barely talk to her anymore, even during self-defense classes and we all know you're still doing those only not to upset me. Glynn said we should let you grieve and that two weeks are nothing. She also wanted me to remind you her mother would be quite happy to help you if you want to talk."

Mags didn't want to talk. Not to Marquise, not to Cara. She knew what her problem was, why she stared at the wall in the evenings, waiting for something that would not happen. She wanted Kyle.

She would never see him again.

"Tell me about Cay," she asked Esperanza with a soft smile. "If it falls a little flat, you'll tell me again when I'm better."

She had failed Kyle, but she wouldn't let her and her sister drift apart.

Esperanza beamed. "Awesome, it was so annoying to keep it all to myself," she said, grasping Mags' hand and leading her to the couch. "Mama's too adult about these things."

* * *

_Date: Year 10, May. Nine months after Mags' victory._

Mags didn't even wait for the end of the evening _jam-propaganda-into-your-brain_ session to storm out.

The law had passed.

Two point eight children on average for every man and woman born later than ten years before the war. This included adopted children, but fertile couples weren't allowed more adopted than natural children. Children born out of wedlock didn't count for the father, medicine would be available and free for children below six years of age. The other legal clauses spelling out special cases meant little to Mags. A harsh law, but not harsh enough to breed revolt.

Despite her exhaustion, her step didn't slow. Mags stifled a wet cough with her arm. She didn't know where she was going, only that her mother would call her guard, and that Marquise would chew her out for going out like this. She needed to do something. Anything.

She was out from before dawn to dusk to make up for the days she'd spent doing nothing but grieve, but everything was so slow. Every house built reminded her there were dozens of people waiting, the academy had roofs now but neither water nor power and the inside was still a mess. Mags was sick of it. She wanted it done. She fell asleep over the ledgers at least twice a week, and woke up crying as the numbers greeted her.

How could Kyle do such a dull task for her and still smile? She'd taken him for granted. She'd never find anyone like him ever again. She'd be alone forever.

"Oy, watch it."

Mags snapped her head to the side. A homeless man sat in the gloomy street corner, and he wasn't so thrilled to have been almost trodden on.

It was something in his brown eyes, the lack of real annoyance, the glassiness maybe, that made Mags sit down next to him. He was of indeterminate age, maybe his mid-thirties, with a thick black beard and a face puffy from drink. He smelled like sea water, strong liquor and sweat, but he didn't look dangerous.

"How far down are you on the lists for housing?" She asked. "Sorry for nearly stepping on you. What's your name?"

"Scaup, pretty lady, and don't fret, everyone's got blind moments." He seemed to chew on his tongue as he strained his memory. "Gotta be a two hundred and eighty, something like it. Lowest of the low. Got a job with Mr. Sandler, getting trash to the dump outta town," he said cheerfully, showing unhealthy teeth. "That's what keeps me from being carted off."

Mags nodded, pushing back the instinct to heave as his hot foul breath invaded her nostrils. She eyed the half-full bottle he held, and especially the clear liquid in it, a calculating light in her eyes. "Can I borrow that?" She said. "I'll buy you a new one."

"It's no drink for ladies," the man warned, handing the bottle over nonetheless.

She took a swig.

It _burned_. She'd tasted liquor before, she'd thought this'd be close. It wasn't, it was so much_ worse_. She couldn't breathe.

Scaup guffawed as she gagged. "No drink fit for human beings, shoulda said. At least a bottle lasts a while."

Her pride stung, Mags turned to him and took a full swallow, locking her muscles in place to keep her dignity. Her eyes watered, but her mouth stayed shut.

"Cheers," Scaup exclaimed, slapping his thigh in appreciation. "Now _that_'s why you're a victor!" He lowered his rumbling voice. "I bet you can't do two of those."

Mags eyebrows shot up at the challenge, she could feel her head spinning slightly. It was a nice feeling, as if she was floating.

"I'll match you," she said, handing the bottle back to Scaup who roared in laughter.

"Careful kid, don't want to get myself in trouble for knocking you out."

Two.

Three.

Four.

Fi- "No, no, no," Scaup slurred, snatching back the bottle. "Get up, walk up to that wall and come back. You do that without cracking your skull, you get to drink, elsewise you stop right there, girl."

Mags huffed. She was quite fine. She pushed herself up.

The world was spinning. The ground was like a ship's deck during a storm. Smears of color replaced the buildings. It wasn't cotton but a nest of buzzing bees occupying her brain.

Mags almost crashed right back down on the ground.

"I think I should go home," Mags said, struggling to get the words out properly. Her vision slowly cleared and, keeping one hand against the nearest wall to keep her balance, she began retracing her steps. She'd left at sunset, it wasn't completely dark yet. She'd never suspected you could get drunk so quickly. A part of her felt ridiculous, but the other relished in how carefree she felt right now.

She giggled as she stumbled again. She had to look so silly.

"Cheers, Mags. Don't forget to buy me one,"

"Tomorrow, Scaup, promise," she called, flashing the shaggy man a grin.

Energy sizzled in her limbs. She broke into a run, focusing on setting her feet right and heading straight ahead. It wasn't perfect, and she grinned when turned too early and almost crashed in a wall. She took a large gulp of fresh air, marveling at the beauty of the night sky. The moon was so large tonight.

Noise caught her attention. She slowed and turned into a wider street and saw people gathered in one of the gardens, twenty yards away. They were greeting each other, looking happy.

She came closer, wondering what they were about to celebrate.

"Oh! Mags, hi," an awkward voice said next to her.

She turned. The man had just come from behind a tree. He'd been peeing. Mags face broke into a smirk at his embarrassment. It was fun because she knew him.

Oliver Blackpool. He worked for her mother's old boss. Pretty boy. Man. Whatever. Looked a bit like a girl with his curly long hair.

A loud trilling laugh made her turn, a tiny boy looked ecstatic to be on his father's wide shoulders.

_Three children. _

Well she'd better get those out of the way. Oliver was cute and rather nice. Mags close the gap between them and kissed him. She needed three kids anyway.

She frowned as she was pushed away before she'd properly wrapped her arms around him.

"Wow, Mags?" Oliver said, eyeing her in sheer confusion. "Are you -"

A cold voice cut the air. "Mags nothing, forget it. Seriously,_ forget_ it, not a word," Marquise ordered, grasping Mags' shoulder so tightly the victor tried to shrug her off.

The stunned, and now afraid, man nodded, backing away hastily. "Never saw you, good night, Ma'am."

"Marquise, I need three kids," Mags protested, annoyed. She coughed, wincing as some of the alcohol rose back in her throat.

"We've let this go on long enough. Come with me, Miss Mags. Everyone else, get a life."

"I don't take orders -"

"Come on Indra, it's infested with mosquitoes and we've got a cargo arriving at eleven PM," Alaric muttered.

"Why are you coughing?" Marquise said, half dragging Mags towards a narrow empty street. "You've been coughing for over a week now. Is the medicine not working well?"

Medicine? What medicine? Ah _that_. Mags scowled. "I stopped. The pills made me stupid."

"You _what_?" Marquise spluttered.

Tears began spilling from Mags' eyes. "I killed Narissa and forced Kyle in the worst town there is. I'm not letting anything alter my brain again."

"Alter your brain? Mags, those pills keep you from feeling weak, they.. damn it!" Marquise cursed. "Your mind wasn't altered and you _didn't_ kill Narissa. She stole from you for months, it's not your fault!"

"So it's really my fault," she said, feeling her knees give away. Kyle... She brought her fist to her mouth as sobs began to wrack her body. She was such a useless person. It wasn't the pills, she was just that stupid _naturally_.

"I'm not arguing with you drunk," Marquise said. She groaned. "Gods, you seriously can't walk."

Mags felt lifted on the ground, arms wrapping themselves around her legs and shoulders. She felt ill. Everything hurt, and especially her stomach. "I'm going to be sick."

"Wait a couple of minutes," Marquise told her sternly. "We're close to the Corduroys'"

Mags docilely forced her mouth shut, hoping her stomach wouldn't rebel. Her head felt so heavy.

She winced when loud pounding assaulted her ears. She just wanted to sleep.

"Circe, was she attacked?" An alarmed voice said.

Marquise snorted. "By a bottle of booze," she said acidly. "Let her sleep, keep her clean and put that glib mouth of yours to good use, Glynn, before she tries to get herself knocked up again. She hasn't been taking her medicine for weeks. I need to tell her mother."

"Hey," Mags complained as she changed arms. She winced as her stomach protested. Was it okay for her to be sick now? But she really wanted to sleep.

"Oomph, you're heavy," Glynn complained. "Dad! I need help over here, and someone get me an empty salad bowl."

* * *

_Date: Year 10, May. Nine months after Mags' victory._

"Drink."

Mags drunk, forcing the cool water down.

"Why won't Marlin talk to me?" She rasped. He'd been there in her dream. Ignoring her. It hurt.

"The same reason he was so out of his depth after the Games. He hates upsetting people and you're a tangle of dark feelings. He's terrified of saying the wrong thing. Now sleep, Mags."

* * *

She tried to spit out the gag choking her when she realized it was her own pasty tongue. Mags forced her eyes open, wincing as her pounding head sent a lance of pain through her mind. She was afraid to think of the state she'd have been in if Glynn hadn't made her drink so much water.

Her auburn-haired friend was sitting on a chair next to her, weaving a new bracelet from thin strips of colorful rags. Mags turned away, ashamed by the indulgence she found in those judging hazel eyes. She felt like a four year old caught trying to head out alone in her parents' boat.

"Are you awake enough to talk?" Glynn said.

"I guess," Mags said, her cheeks blazing. She'd almost molested Oliver Blackpool. _For crying out loud_. The rest of the night was fuzzy. She remembered Marquise carrying her, owing a bottle to Scaup, and vaguely arriving at Glynn's, then nothing. "Was I ill?"

"Yes, but don't worry about it."

Mags winced nonetheless. She wanted to sink in the ground and disappear.

Glynn lowered her voice. "So Cresyl's family was tragically killed by dynamite your father planted and Cresyl infiltrated the Citadel's rebels because the Capitol hosted his living relatives, right? And he gassed everyone later."

"How -?" Mags' heart skipped a beat. It then accelerated, pounding so hard that her head began to spin. She tried to swallow and started coughing. She couldn't breathe.

How? What was she going to do? She gagged, desperate to get air in her lungs. She was crying when the spasms finally stopped.

"You talk when you're smashed," Glynn said once Mags had recovered enough. "You're insanely lucky it was me."

Mags buried her face in her arms. She wasn't just irresponsible. She should've been drowned at birth. _How could she?_ And now Glynn knew enough to be executed. "I'm so sorry," she whimpered.

Glynn's half-smile made Mags want to hide. "Haven't you wallowed enough in self pity in the last month?" The young woman said coolly. "You're not grieving so much anymore as wanting to suffer under some twisted misconception that it was your fault and deserve to be punished."

Mags hands balled into fists. There was no _twisted misconception_.

"I pushed Kyle into that situation where he had so much work he let his aunt handle some of it," she said, her tone thick with self-loathing. "If I hadn't been so lazy, she'd never have gotten hold of the ledgers."

"Stop thinking people are incompetent idiots when it suits you. Kyle chose not to see what his aunt was doing and Narissa was extremely methodical in her theft. She didn't slip, she forged the ledgers for _months,_" Glynn said, all but rolling her eyes. "Narissa went through the black market to get luxury ointments, treated hide and pocket knives, Mags. Twenty-four knives with polished blades. That woman never meant to do any good."

_That woman_ was someone Mags had never gotten to know. She was tired of hearing her vilified. Narissa's last gesture proved there had been more to her than a thief traumatized by her past. "She chose to die to keep Kyle safe," she fiercely reminded Glynn.

Glynn looked down, suddenly highly uncomfortable. "That's..._ that_. But tell me why _you_ are responsible again? You're_ not_ lazy." Glynn sighed. "Mags, you're overworking yourself if anything. Surely you are not stupid enough to think you can do everything alone! You needed an accountant, Kyle agreed, and never told you he had too much to do, despite it being not too hard to find someone else to do a bit of the work. Besides, he never had too much work. He left those accounts to Narissa because she asked."

Mags stared bitterly at the covers. She didn't want to be angry at Kyle. "Does it matter whose fault it is? He's gone."

"He's in Galene. He's not dead," Glynn replied. "He's safer than ever. He's likable enough, he'll be fine. You miss him, that's natural, but I can't see why you've convinced yourself that you're worthless over this. Kyle won't be with you, and that's tragic, but he'll be _fine_, eventually. You'd never have been able to marry him anyway, not with him making his feelings about the Capitol and peacekeepers so obvious."

Mags nodded, unable to deny the last. Rationalizing it cleared her mind, but it didn't hurt any less. Still, the idea Kyle would not be unhappy made it more bearable.

"Narissa -"

"Why are you mourning Narissa more than Fife or Constantine?" Glynn cut in, mystified.

Mags straightened as if slapped.

"I'm not!"

"You are," the short-haired girl tartly replied. "You stopped taking your medicine, Mags. You subconsciously have a death wish. For some reason everything that was dear to you is now secondary. Was it because you were taken by surprise? Because somewhere in you there's still an idealistic rebel that thinks problems will all come from the Capitol? That if someone in Creneis goes up against you it's all a simple misunderstanding?"

Mags shook her head miserably, this was much too complicated for morning talk.

She couldn't believe she'd told Glynn about Cresyl. That realization was like a bucket of cold water. She'd risked throwing away everything because of a heartache and the death of a near stranger.

"If you succeed, Kyle will be free to come to Creneis," Glynn said, reaching out to take Mags' hand, "and there will be no one to tell you two that you can't be."

Mags smiled at the thought. She knew there was little chance of the Capitol falling early enough for her and Kyle to still make sense, but merely imagining it made her realize she had been selfish, allowing the pain to drown her. This was why she had volunteered, to rekindle people's hope and then offer them a true future.

For the first time in almost a month, she _wanted_ to go to the construction site and make sure nothing was rushed so that, when the time came to strike, the second rebellion would be known as the last. As their victory.

She squeezed Glynn's hand back, the cold void in her chest replaced by tentative warmth. First she needed to fix herself.

"I'll talk to your mother. I'll take my medicine," she promised.

* * *

_Date: Year 10, July, Eleven months after Mags' victory._

Angelites tore June out of the calendar on the kitchen wall.

"It has been one hell of a year," she said, contemplating the now empty July grid.

A trilling laugh escaped Mags' lips. No single word could do the madness of the previous eleven months justice.

Her mother grinned and pulled her into a hug.

The Games were a little over a month away. She was ready.

* * *

**Author's Note.**

This wasn't easy to plot or write. Your comments on how to handle the situation (or simply its analysis) and the wildly different opinions I received on Narissa's character helped me a lot. Thank you again for your reviews.

In case it wasn't completely clear. Mags doesn't know Narissa's suicide was in fact murder. Only Marlin, Marquise, Alaric and Glynn do and for now, they're keeping real quiet about it, for slightly different reasons. **In your opinion, should they tell Mags? **

Lastly, Vyrazhi has written a one shot called The Andromeda Position that takes place in Creneis Town with Marquise as a secondary character. I strongly encourage you to go check it out.

**Please review.^^**


	45. Mentor

**Author's Note**

Thank you all for your comments and a special thanks to the mysterious person who nominated Checkmate for the Energize WIP awards. Please come forth^^

If you believe Checkmate deserves to win, you can vote on: www*energizewipawards*blogspot*com (replace the * by dots)

**At the end of this chapter is the list of all the previous victors with their names and the age they were when they won. As usual, there are minor discrepancies with canon in these early Games (for example stylists are only for the interviews, not the rides).**

* * *

_Date: Year 10, August, a year after Mags' victory._

Mags never tired of watching the sun rise over Creneis. Blues, purples and pinks mixed in the calm waters. Mags' mind was empty as she was lost in contemplation.

Small figures were walking the path up the cliff. Lucian Gemini and his guard. It was time.

_Time._ Reapings were held at midday in every district, and tomorrow twenty-four tributes would set foot in the Capitol, brought to the monumental train station by a single train. Mags couldn't remember when her own train had stopped, and yet it must have, for from Lycorias to the Capitol there was less than half a day of travel.

"The hovercraft is waiting," Lucian said curtly.

Mags breathed in, her eyes on her beautiful house, trapped in a last lingering glance. Creneis was so deceptively peaceful before the great rush to the train for Lycorias.

"I'm ready," she said.

She'd made her goodbyes the evening before, taking her time. On this day, she was a victor, and victors operated alone. Lucian and her family belonged to two worlds she was determined to keep separate.

"Do you want to prepare for your tributes' arrival?" He said, adjusting his large glasses to examine her clothing. "How medieval," he commented, more indifference than judgment in his mismatched eyes.

Mags had ordered the cerulean outfit specifically for the occasion. If her district was to have an official color, than that color she would wear. The silk and taffeta dress dropped down to her ankles, pinched at the waist with a square neckline, wide long sleeves and a loose hood to shield from the sun. Or so she told herself when she fancied the warm caress of denial. In truth, she knew that once in the Capitol, she would want to hide. Hide her body, her face, and the tremble to her hands.

Lucian's first question made little sense. Prepare? _How_? "Do you have insight on the arena you would like to share?" she asked.

To her, gamemakers were mysterious shrouded figures, frightening ghost-like creatures with bony limbs that concocted the worst deaths possible for innocent teenagers. Her final training session had done little to erase that image, after all, alterations were only skin-deep. Those people only _looked _human.

"Oh no," Lucian said, with a thin sarcastic smile. "I'm waiting with bated breath."

* * *

White, beige, yellow, orange... Thousands of teenagers and an air thick with tension. Funerals were to be attended clad in black, and so black was worn at the Piers of Spirits of each town and village, but rooted traditions escaped eradication like stubborn weed, and in Mexico, yellow was the ancestral color of mourning. Mags scanned the crowd, searching for spots of a different color, for volunteers. Delphin had worn silver and black, her light blue, but this year, none stood out.

"Ladies first," Lucian said, his cold professional attitude in stark contrast with the terror his words inspired.

"Valentia Gar."

Mags shuddered. She knew nothing of the tribute yet, and still she felt like a hand had seized her throat.

A raven-haired girl was shoved out of the sixteens' section. Mags grit her teeth in anger at the callous violence. This was the consequence of the open shootings that had followed the first reapings, when the names of the tributes had been met with stubborn silence.

Valentia had a worker's tan and strong lean muscles. Her clothes were very simple and she wore no makeup at all. Mags guessed she was from a village.

There were no volunteers. Mags was selfishly relieved that despite her dark hair and eyes, the girl looked nothing like Esperanza.

"Shad Cisco."

A young man stomped out of the eighteen's section, shoulders slumped and a defeated snarl on his badly-shaven face. His broad shoulders and thick arms didn't brighten Mags' spirits. Strength, endurance and the ability to use a spear didn't change anything if you didn't have the will to kill. Delivering death went much beyond the mechanical act. Most tributes discovered it much too late, in a moment of lethal hesitation, just before the light went out in their stricken eyes, or when they stepped away from a corpse, the full impact of their gesture registering.

In both cases their life was over.

"I volunteer," a girl unexpectedly called out.

Mags stared. Had someone changed their minds? Her Games had been the very first with volunteers from Four. Had her victory motivated desperate people to follow her footsteps?

_Could it be that suicidal girl from Galene?_ She thought distressed. The voice came from the distant sections and Adria was still fourteen.

Her heart plummeted when she realized the speaker was not a girl.

A twelve year old boy with shaggy light-brown hair had stepped out and was walking purposefully towards the stage.

Incredulous murmurs rose from the crowd.

Shad didn't move, his eyes popping from their sockets. "Dude, serious?" He whispered.

"As is your right Shad Cisco," Lucian said, "do you refuse to let the volunteer take your place?"

Shad looked like he was about to cry. His mouth twisted into grimace as if he suddenly hated himself. "No, I accept," he said, "I'm sorry little guy, good luck."

Shad leaped off the stage as if someone would force him back up if he wasn't swift enough.

Mags swallowed painfully. She couldn't blame the young man for choosing life.

"I'm Petrel Zander," the twelve year old said clearly, determination etched in his elfin features.

"Hey, I wanted to volunteer next year anyway… Maybe?" A burly boy in the seventeen's section called out. It really sounded like a question and Mags knew the only reason he was speaking was because Petrel was so heartbreakingly young.

"First volunteer on stage is in unless the reaped tribute refuses to step down, that's the rules," Lucian said, but his heart didn't seem to be in it. He looked weary, as if he really wished to be somewhere else.

Mags swiftly erased the shock from her face and forced a tight smile firmly in place. Who knew what had happened in the reckless child's mind. Twelve was the age of stupid dares and risky games, the age where death and danger hadn't sunk in. But there was a difference between swimming as far as you could to outperform a rival, even if you risked drowning, and the Hunger Games.

_Or was there?_ Had someone convinced Petrel he had something to prove? Had he convinced himself he would win?

Twelve years old. Mags was his mentor and she didn't even know where to start.

The girl was looking at her. Mags inwardly cursed as her mind came up blank.

"Excuse me, I got distracted, your name?" Mags said as they were led to the Justice Building.

"Valentia, Valentia Gar," the tribute whispered back, her face pale. "Where are we going?" she asked, confirming that she was not from Lycorias.

"The Justice Building, it's not far. Your family will meet you there."

Mags blanched when the peacekeeper told her she was to wait with the two tributes until the ten minutes for goodbyes were over. She stepped back against the wall, hoping to disappear. She shouldn't be there at a time like this.

The door slammed open, revealing a panting black-haired boy flushed with rage.

"You're stupid. Circe, you're so stupid, Pete! I knew you were stupid, but I didn't think you were _that freaking dumb_," the teen exclaimed.

Mags forgot her decision to remain invisible. "Get out," she said, putting herself between Petrel and his older brother.

Valentia and her family, who was just coming in, were staring at them wide-eyed, and Mags cursed the fact goodbyes weren't in separate rooms. That had to change. The Justice building was big enough.

Petrel's brother just gaped at her, his lips trembling. He had the same wide-set large eyes, thin upturned nose and high-cheekbones.

Mags' eyes misted over, her heart going out to the both of them. "If that's the only thing you have to say to him, you're getting out," Mags whispered, too low for Petrel to hear, "because it won't help him."

The teen snorted. "Nothing can help him," he said loudly, "he's always mucking things up."

"I'm not!" Petrel shouted back, bolting to his feet. "I'll show you. Except I won't give you any money, because I hate you, you're always talking down to me when brothers are supposed to love each other. I hate you! I'm doing this for Dad, only for Dad."

Mags ground her teeth, knowing with sudden clarity why Petrel had volunteered. His brother couldn't be older than fourteen, too immature to know what his daily harsh words had done to his little brother. She felt the sudden urge to scream at the boy's parents.

She had Petrel's brother by the arm and dragged him out before the two could continue their shouting match.

"I'll win, I'll be a hero and I'll stop the Capitol from making avoxes like you did, Mags. Dad won't have to work so hard anymore and no one will _ever _say I'm useless, ever again," ¨Petrel muttered behind her. He sniffed, tears streaming down his cheeks as he sat on the bench with his chin against his knees.

Mags shut her eyes briefly and swallowed back her own tears. The boy she was holding whimpered in pain. Her hold on his arm had grown bruising. She let him go.

A tired-looking gray-haired man soon appeared, hurrying down the corridor. He looked so lost that Mags felt the urge to rush to him and help him walk. She swallowed, feeling desperately sorry for the man.

He frowned at Mags. "That's my son," he pointed out.

"Who was telling your other son that he's a worthless idiot," Mags said tightly, stopping there because she didn't want to add to the anguish on that lined face.

The teenager exhaled in distress. "He freaking _volunteered_, Dad, what can I say to that?"

"That you love him, that you're stupid when you're angry and didn't mean your words, Gannet," the man replied tiredly, looking about to collapse. "Let me in, please."

Mags moved aside. "You have minutes to get a hold of yourself, Gannet," she said softly, truly sorry for the miserable looking boy.

"Can't you let his friends in? I'll just get angry at him, even if I don't want to," Gannet said, guilt written all over his face. "I can't help it." His breath hitched. "It's my fault. I killed him. I killed my _brother_. I just wanted to shake him, to make him grow up, I…" his voice broke, and he let his face fall against Mags' shoulder, sobs wracking his whole body.

"Only family is allowed, except for orphans," Mags said, putting an arm around his shoulders as she bit back a scream. "You can do it. Go see him."

"No. You need to help him. You…" Gannet swallowed and wiped his nose with his sleeve. "Mum died two years ago, she got sick, and Petrel's now scared all the time, of dad getting sick because he's so tired, so he's been doing crap at school, but he really needs a good job, or dad's really not going to make it. That's why I always told him to stop being such a wuss and learn his knots properly to get a ship job. Pete makes the best snares, but he's too slow. Can you teach him to be fast, before the Games?" He pleaded.

"I'll do my best," Mags promised in soft tones. Her best would never be enough.

"He's so stupid," the red-eyed boy whispered shakily.

* * *

"I can take care of myself," Petrel exclaimed, glaring up at her defensively, "I'm never bullied because people know not to mess with me."

Mags wondered if this was her punishment for having volunteered.

_The Games are serious. It's death. What world do you live in?_ She wanted to shout. Instead she decided to opt for a practical approach.

"Okay. Defend yourself," she said, before punching his stomach and grabbing him by the neck.

Petrel groaned, taken by surprise. Then he started kicking. Mags slipped her arms under his and lifted him by his armpits, making him flail uselessly.

Circe, he was heavy for someone so small.

"If I had a knife, I'd have got you. And I can make traps so you can't get near me."

_You only know how make traps with good ropes, enough time and if the arena gives you something to attach them to_, Mags wanted to say. But she feared that bursting his little bubble would just guarantee his death.

"Take the fork, then." Mags said. "Don't stab me hard," she warned, "just show me what you do if I attack you again."

Petrel didn't hesitate, slashing the fork aggressively before him. Mags actually took a step back, now glad for her self-defense lessons. Skewered during the train rides… Charming.

"You'd really do that with a knife?" She blurted.

"You attacked me," Petrel exclaimed, as if the question was asinine.

Mags nodded slowly. Petrel, in his childish single-mindedness, was maybe much more capable than she gave him credit for. But could he live with having killed?

"Is this really going to tip the odds?" Valentia said sullenly.

"What tips the odds is your ability to kill before you get killed. Fitness will help you survive longer in the arena, but state of mind is worth more than training when it comes to survival," Mags said. "If you do not panic at the sight of blood and can kill in cold-blood without feeling guilt, you have an extraordinary advantage."

"So basically, you have to be a criminal to win," Valentia said, her lips curled in a bitter half smile.

"It helps," Mags admitted, a part of her doubting that saying this was even wise, "_or,_" she added with a hopeful smile, "you can detach yourself from the act and feel certain that coming back to your family is worth it, that these innocents will still die but that if you win, you'll make the world a better place."

She hated to think of herself as a criminal.

Petrel nodded vehemently at her words. "I'll kill them if I have to, but it'll be quick. I won't be a criminal. I want to be a victor to help people. Like you did," he stressed, admiration evident in his light brown eyes.

Mags struggled to conceal her horror. Was this the kind of role model she had become? She swallowed back her distress, telling herself Petrel was one of sixty-thousand, one child of reaping age among over eight thousand. The others did not share his insane ambition or suicidal devotion.

"At the very beginning, if I step out of the circle early, before the end of the countdown, I die painlessly on the spot, right?" Valentia said, chewing her words thoughtfully.

The initial countdown had been the only constant in Games one to eight.

Mags stared. "Yes," she finally said, "but it will be seen as rebellious."

"_Rebellious_?" Valentia spluttered. "I have no chance, I don't want to suffer. Isn't everyone a rebel once they're reaped? If we didn't hate the Capitol before, we sure do when we're told 'kill or die!' And there will be twenty three left," Valentia rolled her eyes, "I won't tell the others to act like me."

"You have a chance," Petrel said, furrowing his brow.

_Only if you die, little fool._

Valentia glared. "No," she said coldly after a pause. "My family doesn't need me enough to make me desperate. I still have nightmares of the time I found a floating corpse after a storm. I _like_ people. I want to be friends with them. I hate hurting them. I won't sleep from fear and I won't kill. I'll just wait for death, like everyone normal does during the Games."

"You could protect Petrel," Mags suggested with a wan smile. She inwardly winced at how cold that had to sound. She wondered if there was any _good _way to mentor.

She had no argument against Valentia's suicide plan. She couldn't afford to invest herself emotionally enough in the girl to find one and jumping against the charged forcefield wasn't such a stupid idea. Mags couldn't imagine giving up so soon despite the cruel odds, but Valentia was her own person. The sixteen year old had the right to choose her death, and she was actually putting herself in a position to be able to do so.

Mags felt disgust rise at the back of her throat. Already she was finding excuses, anesthetics made of false logic and empty promises, to forget the two tributes before her were innocents sentenced to die.

Valentia shook her head. "I held the bar and scrubbed the decks. That's no good here. Petrel needs someone who knows snares and doesn't need much food, so they can both set traps and take their time, someone who won't kill him and won't bitch about having been reaped. Good luck with that," Valentia added with a small sneer. She moved away from the window and walked up to the table. "Can I write some letters to my parents and friends? I'm slow, so I'll need to start now. It's just personal stuff I want them to know," she said softly," could you pass them on to them when I'm finished?"

_When I'll be dead._ The words rang as clear as if they'd been spoken out loud.

"Of course, Valentia," Mags said. She squeezed the forlorn girl's shoulder. "I'll get that right now, Then I'll try to see what I can help you with during the time we have, Petrel. Think about what you want to do during training or how you want to choose your allies so we can discuss it."

"Okay," Petrel promptly said.

He wouldn't win, but if it could keep them both occupied, if Petrel could have hope as long as possible, then she wouldn't have failed. Not completely. She wondered who among the reaped tributes would win, and who actually deserved to. Petrel and Valentia were hers to prepare, but it didn't make the other tributes less human.

She hated this every bit as much as she had expected to.

* * *

The compartment door creaked. A tall whip-thin boy with a harassed air entered the compartment.

"May I stay here?" he begged. "I'll either throw myself out the window or kill my district partner otherwise."

"That sounds drastic," Lucian muttered, a sarcastic half-smile on his face.

Mags wanted snap at him to go back to his quarters and leave them alone.

"Why?" Petrel asked, his whole body tense as he crossed his arms. He looked even smaller like this. "And who're you?" he sounded wary, but not aggressive.

"Jack, from Three. She," he said, jerking his thumb towards the door in distress, "volunteered, because she wanted to die. You know, end her life. She tried already but her parents stopped her so she volunteered to get the job done."

"She's stupid," Petrel exclaimed.

Valentia failed to contain a small snort. Mags sent her a mild warning glare. She didn't need Petrel upset.

"She looked all happy and proud when she did, hugging the reaped girl and everything. I thought she was crazy but kinda brave, but now she doesn't want to die anymore, and she's wailing and weeping and complaining and I _can't_," Jack finished putting his face in his large hands.

"Why couldn't there be a suicidal girl back in Four?" Valentia grumbled. "What is she twelve?"

"Fifteen," Jack groaned, his shoulders stooped and his chin almost tucked in his chest. "And that ninny Comet is encouraging her and crying with her," he said, his exasperation mounting.

"Mags is _our_ mentor, you can't have her," Petrel suddenly snapped. His earlier tentative friendliness had been replaced by a warning glare, with a hint of steel that almost impressed Mags.

So he wasn't completely oblivious to what the Games meant.

"I get it," Jack said with a resigned smile, his eyes bright. "I'll take a nap wherever you have a bed."

"Want some company?" Valentia said, standing up, "I'll write later."

Jack nodded after a pause, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed painfully.

"They're gone, what can you teach me?" Petrel whispered, his undivided attention on her.

Her nerves begging for reprieve, Mags grabbed the nearest thing, a sugar cube.

She popped it in her mouth.

* * *

The zoo or the fish market? Mags wasn't sure which was the most fitting comparison for the welcoming chariot rides.

It was a freak show, with the commentator unabashedly boasting the physical qualities of the tributes and inventing psychological ones for those too scrawny to be taken seriously. She couldn't fathom what 'great sense of humor' had to do with the Games, but the audience would have cheered for 'likes tomatoes' at this point.

What bothered Mags to no end was that the Capitolite called the tributes by number and never by name.

Mags shuffled a little closer to Lucian when someone moved in to sit next to her.

She turned around when a familiar powerful scent of sea salts invaded her nostrils. "Hi, Myia," she said, happy for the distraction.

"Missed me?" the woman trilled. "Oh, I love your dress," she said, her purple eyes glittering, "You must be so warm, but you're right to keep covered, the sun will ruin your skin if you're not careful."

Mags flashed her a forced smile. "Thank you."

She'd talked often enough of clothes, makeup and beauty tips with Marquise, and yet Myia already irritated her. Probably because Marquise would never casually mention the dangers of sun exposure while gazing at teenagers about to be herded to their death.

"Will you make a speech this year? Aunt Evadne was very happy with your last one."

Mags blinked, taken by surprise by the abrupt change in subject. _Happy? She'd made Achlys happy? How? When?_

"She told you that?" She said, trying to sound touched.

Myia straightened, flushing with pride. "Absolutely. Evadne said that a rebel would have made a speech like that in the lower districts where it would have been misinterpreted as an order to stand up against us, but since District One is loyal, it will encourage people to cooperate with us and make us all wealthier."

Mags understood two things. First, she was incredibly lucky, because by every right her outburst in Byzantium Plaza during the victory tour should have signed her death warrant, and the other was that silly attention-craving Myia would do her hardest to prove that she had a privileged relationship with her powerful aunt.

Now she just had to learn how to flatter her fairy-tale princess aide properly to make her talk.

* * *

Mags should have expected the mentors to be in even worse spirits than the tributes.

She hadn't.

She really shouldn't have left her room. It seemed the absent mentors from Seven were the wisest of their sorry group.

"You look even more depressed than I am, Mattock," Mags said, wondering how to break the ice.

The District Ten mentor was built like a bull and sitting slumped on a sofa, his expression so sullen that Mags was genuinely worried for him. He was the only one who had stood up to officially introduce himself to her. The others probably figured she'd done her own research.

"I have a volunteer," Mattock gloomily replied.

"There's quite a few this year," Vicuña said. She rolled her eyes at the mildly curious reactions that earned her. "You haven't watched each other's reapings?"

Mags frowned in dismay. Should she have? The idea hadn't even crossed her mind.

"Let's play a game. Who has the worst volunteer," Mags said with fake cheer. The bunch before her looked much more eager to complain than to do anything else. She found herself edging closer to Vicuña. The blonde was the only one who looked sane.

"Whenever someone says something sad, drink!" Rye cut in, his voice much too loud.

The victor of the sixth Games did not look like someone Mags wanted to cross alone in a dark alley. He sat crookedly, his bushy brown hair sticking out in a ways that would make a homeless man ashamed, with a perpetual grimace on his face and a luscious unfocused stare that made Mags wish for even more concealing clothes.

"Help yourselves, friends! It's the very best, and they don't export this one, those fucking hoarders," he hatefully spat, droplets of wine dripping down his unkempt beard as he took a long swig from the bottle.

"I have a determined twelve year old who wants to become a hero," Mags said with forced levity, "like he believes I am."

Bianca from Six cackled. "Karma's a bitch," she said, her round cheeks flushed from alcohol.

She looked much older than her twenty-five years. A mane of fine grey hair covered the maroon and red shawl she wore over her dark brown dress, as if she was immune to the thick summer heat. Victory had sucked the youth and beauty out of her face, but at least she kept clean, unlike Rye. A heavy scent of incense hung around her.

Bianca was shuffling a deck of large cards. _Tarot_, Mags remembered. Fife had told them all about such fortune telling. She blinked, fierce nostalgia clutching at her heart. Her own Games seemed a lifetime ago.

Comet sighed, a long anguished sound. "I have a sweet girl who wanted to die, now she doesn't, but she will," she said dejected. The short-haired young woman was dressed as a street child, a very romanticized version of a street child, and had been scooting from corner to corner to hide in since the welcoming rides. Mags wished the actress had had a cheerful role just before the Games.

"My kid is sixteen but tough, tougher than most any kids his age and he's got a focus I admire," Mattock began, his voice so bitter that she dreaded the rest.

"He volunteered for his older brother. He kept saying 'don't be afraid, Halter,' as he climbed on stage."

"He's mentally disabled," Vicuña said, putting an end to Mattock's sadistic tension building efforts.

Mags lowered her eyes to the floor. Was that what it took, for family love to surpass the fear the Games bred? Mental disability? Yet was it really a service rendered to leave your sibling to live with the horror and guilt? She almost snorted. Even without training, she'd have volunteered for Esperanza.

"He was very well behaved in the train. He's eight in his head but helpful, calm, a good lad," Mattock granted with a grimace, "then he was told he had to get on the chariot and he saw the bits the horses are given. Those cruel bits that bloody their mouths. He got furious, refused to get on the chariot unless the bits were taken off. They sedated him real quick when he raised his fists. That's why he looked so doped. He was bawling and breaking stuff, demanding to go home when the drugs started to fade. Now he's sedated again," he said, his thick square jaw jutting forward in a grim resigned smirk.

"Bacchus' tits you play this game right, Matty" Rye exclaimed, noisily taking large gulps of wine. "Keep talkin', this is good. I could even cry."

"Either go faster and knock yourself out or waste less of it," Bianca said disgustedly, her own glass still half full, "You're an insult to the gatherers and vintners, that's what you are."

"Ha! They'd flush it down their toilets if they could get away with it. Who wants to make Capitol trash's life better? I'd as soon poison it if I was them."

Mags winced, now remembering what Vicuña had told her about Rye.

_He's trying to see how many laws he can break before the Capitol hangs his ass. That ugly runt has single-handedly spent more on hookers in the last three years than __his whole bloody district __put together._

"Think they have toilets in Eleven?" Rye continued, his lips twitching, "Ours clogged up all the time, I can't say I remembering ever taking a proper piss –"

"No one cares, Rye," Vicuña snapped, her cold gaze made the man's sardonic smile vanish. He cradled his bottle moodily, not looking at them anymore.

Bianca gasped, causing them all to turn. She picked up her cards and shuffled them again with frantic vigor. Muttering to herself.

Vicuña shut her eyes briefly, her expression strained. Mags shared the sentiment. The temptation to leave grew greater as time passed. Lucian was healthier company, as insane as the thought may have once seemed.

"You probably think better a retard than a healthy kid, Vicuña, don't you?" Comet said darkly, still crouched at the other end of the room.

There were five chairs Comet could sit in and yet she preferred the hard floor. It made Mags' skin crawl. The common room for victors was an accursed mental ward.

"His family will mourn him regardless, and you don't need to be a genius to work in sugar or grain fields, or mind horses." Vicuña replied. "When misfits get reaped on the other hand," she said in a cruel knowing voice causing the victor from Three to hiss in rage.

"You're horrible," Comet muttered, her face buried in her knees and fat tears seeping from her eyes.

Mags couldn't believe it. How could people who'd gone through the same thing be so uncaring? Did they hate themselves so much they could only hate the others? They didn't have to be friends, but _this_…

"Why don't we see what we can actually do during the Games?" She said, anger flushing her face. "How big a thing is sponsoring? How do we influence it? Could we pool the money in the end, to give a chance to someone we'd like to win?"

"You want us to choose who lives or dies?" Comet said in a hoarse whisper. She cringed, backing against the wall on all fours. "I'm out. I'm not having anything to do with this."

Rya barked a laugh. "Who do you hate enough to want to win, Chick?"

Bianca lifted her glass at that. "The odds are not in my favor anyway," she said in a brittle voice, staring at the cards with her pale horror-filled eyes.

"Who'll win by them?" Comet curiously whispered, cautiously edging up to the other woman.

"I've trained Onyx personally, he's ready," Vicuña said confidently, apparently blind to the fact ready meant _will be out to kill your tributes_. "District Two's boy looks like he means business but I haven't talked to him. The girl isn't a volunteer." Vicuña seemed to suddenly remember something. "About sponsoring: things will be cheap this year because Evadne wants sponsor gifts to be numerous and showy."

"Showy? Not even useful?" Mattock cut in, his teeth bared in distaste.

"So use the money as soon as you get it to get more sponsors," Vicuña continued, ignoring the interruption.

"Of course, anything for _Evadne_," Rye slurred, slamming his empty glass down on the table loud enough to make the windows rattle.

But where did the money go? What were the sponsors really financing? New Games? More peacekeepers? Mags didn't dare speak out and hoped someone else would, in vain. Mags finally understood why Vicuña had been so happy when she had won. They were depressing as hell.

"So only the boy volunteered in One this year?"

Was this Onyx someone Vicuña really cared about? Someone the first Career believed to deserve victory? Mags shivered, thinking of Petrel's elfin face and small, _fragile_ body as she vaguely remembered the lean brown-haired young man standing on the first chariot next to a short but smiling blonde.

"No, the girl too. But Sable Lockley is demented. I haven't gotten a sensible word out of her." Vicuña frowned. "She wanted to meet you, I think."

Mags' lips had parted in shock. _Sable_? Was it a coincidence or some sick joke?

"Is that a common name?" she said, her mouth suddenly dry.

Her voice was so low Vicuña had to almost bump into her to hear.

"Not really," the blonde replied, seeming to ponder it, "but not that rare either."

"Did she mention Constantine?" Mags whispered. "He had a friend called Sable, and he did imply she was unhinged."

Vicuña paled, her eyes widening in realization. "I think I just understood what she's been telling me…" She stood up abruptly. "I need to go."

A shriek escaped Mags lips when she felt a foreign hand on her side. Mattock lifted both his hands up in apology for startling her. Mags gave him a wry smile and sat on the armrest of his chair.

"Yes?" she asked.

"I sniff a story to tell," Mattock said in low tones. There was a warmth in those dark eyes Mags hadn't seen before.

"Vicuña had said you didn't speak much when I met her last year," she said, confused but not unhappy.

A small smile split the man's full lips, and his face illuminated for a brief instant. "Rosalyn said yes. I'll be a dad soon," he said, awe etching determination on his tanned face. "I want to be the kind of man that makes his woman proud. The Games are your biggest enemy, Mags, they stay with you, choke you and but they're also a friend, in the dark, when you're so down you're not even sure the sun will rise again. They don't let you die, they whisper you _owe_. If they're tamed, maybe that's a strength…" He shrugged, as if he was still figuring it out.

He clapped Mags lightly on the back. "You look good, Mags, better than I'd thought anyone half decent could look. Good for you. Point is, I'll be the man I want to be. I'll give my kids the father they deserve. Self-pity is fit for those who live alone."

"If you're gonna sit in his lap, there are rooms for that." Rye leered at her, licking his wine-soaked lips. "As long as I get pictures, I promise not to tell."

Mags had had enough. She jumped off the armrest. "Let's get a room, Mattock," she snapped.

* * *

**Please review^^.**

**Games:**

Games 1 victor: District 7 male (age 18)

2: D9 male (18). Committed suicide during the chariot rides.

3: D7 male (16)

4: D6 female: Bianca (18)

5: D10 male: Mattock (18)

6: D9 male: Rye (17)

7: D1 female: Vicuña Chrysaor (18), volunteer.

8: D3 female: Comet (17)

9 : Mags Abalone (17), volunteer.


	46. The Hangman

**I want these Games done at the end of the next chapter, so it's hard to pick out which scenes are essential. I hope this won't feel chaotic.**

* * *

_Date: Year 10, August, a year after Mags' victory._

Mags slipped the bundle of letters in her bag, careful to keep the address face down. She had taken pains to never glimpse the names of the people who made up Valentia's world. It was hard enough without involving the tributes' families. Mags would only require one name, that of the village the letters would need to be sent to.

A gust of wind rustled her dress. The open window slammed shut.

The victor frowned and slowly walked towards the small common room assigned to District Four. Could it be Myia? Lucian only came when obligated and neither Valentia nor Petrel would have left training early.

The person by the door was no-one Mags had expected to see.

Mags' hand went to her belt, until she remembered she had left her knife back in Creneis.

A minute girl with near translucent skin, wet eyes of a blue so pale the irises were almost invisible, and wispy blond hair to her shoulders smiled at her. A happy smile, but Sable Lockley was not someone Mags wanted to be alone in a room with. Constantine's words echoed in her mind.

_'Sable is worth my time. She gives another dimension to this world, although one many people would do without.'_

"Hello, Sable, I was wondering if you'd come to see me," she said with forced calm, gesturing towards the sofa. The volunteer, despite her doll-like appearance, was seventeen. Mags didn't want her to feel patronized, or be given any reason to be upset.

Mags released the breath she had been holding when Sable skipped up to the sofa and sat crossed legged on the largest cushion.

"Constantine protected you. Who do you want me to protect?" The girl's high-pitched voice had an odd melody to it, dreamy, distant.

Mags stared.

She hadn't expected that.

"I'm sorry he didn't win," she blurted. Her mind only let her focus on the fact that Sable had been Constantine's friend. She hated to imagine what watching Marlin or Glynn die in the Games would have felt like.

Sable's eyes narrowed. "Don't say that," she said, her voice dropping to a displeased hiss. "He isn't sorry, of he'd have won. Nothing ever stopped Constantine from doing what he wanted." The blonde sighed, her expression devoid of resentment. "He wanted you to win."

It was said with such effortless confidence that Mags felt ashamed.

"I'm his friend, who do you want to win this time?" Sable said, clasping her hands on her lap.

The victor couldn't wrap her mind around it. "Don't you want to win?"

A broad surprised smile split Sable's lips. "You want _me_ to win?"

Mags winced. This conversation wasn't making sense. "Why did you volunteer?"

"Why not?" Sable scowled. "Stupid rules, stupid people, they're all stupid. The Games aren't stupid at all. You make your own rules. They're really a lot of fun."

_Fun?_ This was the girl Constantine had been so fond of? What had the aristocratic boy, son of a peacekeeper colonel, seen in this eerie child?

Mags forced a friendly smile on her tense face as she attempted to unravel the logic directing the thoughts swirling behind those too pale eyes.

"Why didn't you volunteer earlier?" Mags said.

A mournful shadow crossed Sable's face. "Constantine said he'd miss me if I did. Now there's no one left to miss me. They all hate me," she said with a shrug.

Her casual tone and bright, open expression made Mags' heart clench.

Against her better judgment, she sat next to the girl. "Aren't you scared, Sable?"

"No. Should I be?" She paused, a small smile gracing her face. "Maybe I'll come back as ghost and haunt everyone who was ever mean to me." A somber vindictive flame had come alive in her pale eyes. Her smile broadened for an instant, reaching cheeks flushed in anticipation.

Mags shuddered.

"Maybe I'll go places," Sable continued eagerly. "Death is very mysterious, you know? I want to see." She clucked her tongue. "Mags, haven't you made your choice yet? Who do you want to win?"

Mags swallowed. Petrel had continued to practice and establish strategies and fail-safes with her tirelessly after his first day of training, but Valentia had reported that he had been loud, assertive and had tried to show off like the hyper-active twelve year old he was. The older boys he'd wanted as allies had not been impressed, so Petrel had gone to sulk and practice his snares alone for the rest of the day. Valentia had sympathized with the girls from Eleven and Eight, and as behind the smiles the sixteen year old directed at her new acquaintances, Mags could see Valentia's suicide plan slowly crumble, replaced by a heartbreaking wish to_ protect_.

Mags' eyes hardened. Maybe someone deserved it more, maybe she was wasting the chance Sable offered her for a doomed boy, but guilt would stick to her skin until her dying day if she did not do her best by the elfin twelve year old.

She forced her lips into a smile. "Petrel has no allies yet. He was waiting just for you."

Sable bit her lower lip thoughtfully. "The little one. He is different from the others. Very well."

Mags' smile grew less forced. Sable wasn't selfless, not with her unsettling fascination with death and her disregard of the other tributes, but the victor could now glimpse how with better guidance, this fiercely loyal wisp of a girl could have bloomed into something truly special.

A knock rattled the door.

It slammed open before Mags had the time to answer.

The man, for there was nothing youthful about him, from District Two, was so broad that he now hid the frame from view. He took a step towards the victor, his jaw set in grim determination. His shaved head glistened with perspiration and his hands were powerful enough to smash a window, or crush her neck.

Mags tensed but refused to be intimidated. She crossed her arms. "What do you want, Mordred? Barclay?"

The shorter boy from Seven, now besides the other tribute, lost most of his belligerence upon hearing his name spoken, as if he suddenly remembered manners, but Mordred didn't even blink.

"We need a mentor. We can't afford to go in blind."

Mags held his gaze. The volunteer should have thought of that earlier. Of course, this didn't make it less true, but a polite knock and a _please_ might have been more appropriate conduct.

"And since you obviously don't mind sharing…" Barclay said, shooting Sable a venomous glance.

Mags suspected it had more to do with them being certain Vicuña would have laughed at them.

"Seven has two mentors," she pointed out coolly. Mentors she still needed to meet, but Mattock had spoken of them rather well.

Barclay barked a harsh laugh. "Maple is their cleaning lady's son's childhood sweetheart's twin sister or something. I've been told to keep out of their feet," his lips curled into a sneer, "not that I want to spend time around that bitch anyway. She cried big fat fake tears when Rowan figured it'd be decent to mentor me anyway. She needed them both, you see." His voice trembled in rage.

Mags couldn't fault the girl for weakening her _competition -what a foul inappropriate word in this context_-. The Games sent fairness down the drain.

"You _both_ want to be mentored?" She said in the same neutral tones.

"We'll go father together than by staying on our own," Barclay said, his expression set. "We're not pals and we know there's just one victor, don't worry."

_If only this could be the greatest of her worries..._

"You help us, or we kill baby boy first, and then the furry chatterbox," Mordred said, taking another menacing step forward.

Mags scowled at the unflattering nicknames. As useful as such tactics may be to detach oneself from the death of the other tributes, insulting Petrel and Valentia in front of her was not only rude but immature. Mordred was expecting her to surrender in the face of brute strength, it wasn't making him sympathetic at all. As horrible as the situation was, Mags would not put her emotional stability in jeopardy for them.

The mountain of a man grabbed Mags' arm as the silence dragged on. "It wasn't a question, Victor," he said through clenched teeth, his breath hot on her face. "I'm sparing you the choice and whatever remorse it'd give you. I climbed out of a pit to come here and I'll break heads instead of stones to provide properly for my family as a son ought to. It's not personal," he said, his black eyes softening slightly. "Now I. Need. A. Mentor."

Sable was on her feet, eyeing the scene with a rueful smile. She didn't seem alarmed.

Mags belatedly realized that her dress, while comfortable for walking, wasn't adapted to self-defense. She grit her teeth as Mordred's hold on her grew bruising.

"I am very sorry you were reaped, Barclay, and I'm sorry that you realize now you may be less ready than you had thought, Mordred," Mags said stiffly, increasingly alarmed by the pain shooting up her arm. "I would not have wished you dead, nor your families suffering."

Mordred's breath seared her skin. She had to twist her neck to see his head. Her arm hurt. Cold sweat pearled on Mags' brow. Even though she was confident he was not fool enough to truly harm her, he was too close. Much too close.

"I'll only accept _one_ answer," Mordred growled.

_Let go!_

Mags shifted all her weight on her left side. Her balled fist cut the air and collided painfully against Mordred's jaw. His head backwards and Mags gasped at the sharp pain in her knuckles. _Hard-boned bastard!_ Her captive arm twisted free. Mags wrapped her hand around the man's little finger and forced it to the side.

It snapped with a sickening crunch.

It had been one of Marquise's first lessons.

Mordred shouted out in pain. He shoved Mags backwards. She stumbled but kept her balance and grabbed the ornate solid silver boat on the nearest shelf, holding it like a two-handed club.

"Threaten me again, and you'll be entering the Games with so much poison in your body that you'll collapse before you take three steps away from the landing circles," she said, panting for breath. "Get out."

Mags' felt a pang of empathy as she saw the two exchange a desperate glance. Failure, death. She knew that feeling all too well.

"I will tell you one thing," she said, her voice hard. "The means don't justify the end. If you win, the means will haunt you all your life. Anger will give you an illusion of strength, but it will _kill_ you if you lose control. Know yourself and don't let your mind wander. A trapped mind weaves excuses or creates terrors. You've watched the Games, and surely you think previous tributes were cowards, stupid and forgetful." Mags face darkened as Barclay gave a minute nod. "They were just as smart as you and me. _You _are your worst enemy." She cracked a stiff smile. "You may still want to keep an eye out for Onyx."

Barclay nodded again, his fearful brown eyes not leaving her face until he shut the door.

Mags wiped her flushed cheeks. She winced and pulled her sleeve back. Her right forearm was a single nasty purple bruise, following the red lines left by the five large fingers which had dug in her skin. She'd have to ask Lucian to get Mordred medicine and find something for herself.

The two boys shouldn't have been let free to wander. Avoxes and escorts were not supervision enough. Mags hadn't thought the tributes would ever threaten _her_. What a naive fool she made.

"I know poisons," Sable said with a calculating smile. "You want me to kill them first?" Her pale eyes were much too innocent for her words. "Sponsors will be aplenty, just send me a coated blade."

"Kill those who are direct threats, don't seek Mordred or Barclay out until then. Petrel is your priority."

Mags couldn't believe she was treating Sable as her personal assassin. She wished someone would burst in, would stop her before she sank any deeper. She _couldn't_ do nothing, but playing the Games as the Capitol intended it... And yet she didn't stop.

Sable nodded, a disappointed pout on her lips. "Constantine didn't set fire to the Scavengers... Should I say something special during the interviews?"

_Don't speak of that fire._

"Petrel is a boy, boys can be insensitive. Why don't I train the two of you together so he learns not to be rude to you? And we'll talk about the interviews."

Sable might poison Petrel if she felt rejected.

"Great." Sable laughed, a high-pitched trilling sound.

A knock on the door announced Petrel and Valentia.

Mags glowered. "You're turning up just _now_?"

Petrel shrank on himself. He swiftly pointed at Valentia. "She took a long shower."

"You took _no _shower," the raven-haired girl shot back. "Some finished early, we're on time."

Mags nodded, pushing back her irritation. They weren't to blame for the scare Mordred had given her.

"What is she doing here?" Petrel said, glaring at Sable.

"Sable's your new ally."

Petrel's expression would have been comical in another context.

"Fine, I'll go hang out with Fills," Valentia said, her lips tight. "Her escort is cool with having people over."

Mags nodded again, proud the young woman handled this with so much calm. Fills. A nickname for friends to use. Mags' heart clenched.

They would die, one by one, all of them.

"Really?" Petrel finally whispered, eyeing the older tribute with a mix of fear and awe.

"Really. She wants you to win," Mags said with a strained smile. This was going to be _fun_.

* * *

_Date: Year 10, August, a year after Mags' victory._

_To compensate for last year's unbearable secrecy, this year's Games will be entirely transmitted half an hour after the actual events, and there is more, my friends! Want to see a touching child have their happy ending? Annoyed the arena does not provide your favorite tribute with the opportunities they deserve? Eager to bet with your friends and share a laugh? Send your favorite tribute money, through their mentor or escort, to boost their chances and be quick, for there are no refunds and the tribute supply will soon dwindle. A lot may happen in half an hour..."_Mags whimpered, her sweaty fingers clutching the covers, as the ominous whisper amplified by her troubled subconscious chilled her bones._ "Are you rrrr-ready for the challenge?" Flickerman roared._

_A booming desperate voice wiped the simile of the interview scene away. "The hangman!"_

Mags shifted over in her sleep, wishing the clamor away.

_"It's the hangman, it won't leave!"_

_Go away! It was close, too.._

… close.

Startled, Mags hands flew before her, colliding with something warm. Something which was pinning her down on her bed.

"It won't leave," the voice wept.

Alcohol vapors mixed with an overpowering stench of incense filled Mags' nose and mouth. She almost gagged.

_Bianca._ Mags took a deep breath, forcing oxygen in her sleep-deprived brain.

"Calm down, you'll wake Petrel and Valentia," Mags huffed, struggling to get up with the other woman almost lying on her.

"But it's the hangman," Bianca repeated, her features slowly revealing themselves as Mags' eyes adapted to the gloom. "Always, always the hangman. It won't leave," she wailed, horror choking her voice.

A surge of unmasked irritation clenched Mags' jaw.

Was this some kind of new victor hazing? Had she missed the memo that said to bar the lock-less door in order to get some sleep?

The interviews had put her in a terrible mood. Petrel had been so nervous at seeing the size of the crowd that he'd left Marcus to liberally interpret his mumbles for three whole minutes, shattering his valiant young hero angle; Valentia and her girlfriends were depressing, sobbing noisily in each other's arms unless they were pried apart –with bug spray, courtesy of Lucian – and with Vicuña off on mysterious errands and even Mattock much too moody for company, Mags was left spending the long training hours with Myia when, in such conditions, she'd rather have stayed alone.

_Oh, Mags, I'm sure Petrel would have had a higher score, at very least a six, if he'd been allowed to train with weapons his size. Surely they did not expect him to do as well as the older tributes with those huge heavy weapons?_

Mags scowled at the memory. She was so much of a coward she'd pretended to cheer up at Myia's words. She had wanted to look for prospective sponsors, but they had been told they'd have to wait until the morning of the Games.

And Valentia and Petrel were as good as dead. Mags was working her tail off for pure show and a misguided sense of responsibilities, as if she'd be less guilty if she finished the day as exhausted and miserable as her tributes.

Mags was in a foul mood and Bianca and her bloody hangman were about to make her snap.

"Bianca, the Games are death, the hangman's just one type of it. It won't be your death, please get off me and go take a shower"

"But -"

Bianca yelped as Mags finally managed to sit up properly.

Mags caught herself as she was about to shove the drunk woman off her bed.

She had spent the last six days keeping a brave face on for the condemned tributes. This woman was alive, would remain so, and needed help. It would be absurd for Mags to encourage Petrel and then kick Bianca out.

She stifled a sigh. "Bianca, calm down," she said in soft tones. "I won't make you leave, let's just talk. I'll go turn on the lights and you can show me how the hangman appears and explain to me what the cards are trying to tell us."

She could almost hear her sanity packing its bags and leaving, and yet a warm feeling invaded her limbs as Bianca wiped the last of her tears.

* * *

"Mags? Mags!"

Mags hastily threw on a robe and went to join the early rising Valentia at the already set breakfast table.

The raven-haired girl was looking at her quizzically. "Why was that woman in your bed?"

Mags' lips twitched despite herself. "I'm amazed you didn't wake up with the ruckus she made. Bianca fell asleep and I was too tired to move her."

And Bianca had looked so exhausted that Mags hadn't had the heart to order her to leave. The bed was large enough for two.

"We'd had a big day," Valentia pointed out acidly. She paled as the knowledge this had been their last night in the Capitol sunk in. Her dark eyes dropped to the floor. "I need to talk to you about something, I'm sorry."

Mags frowned, wondering what Valentia had to be sorry about. Had she allied with someone who wanted to target Petrel? Did she think Mags would be upset at her for wanting to live?

"I'm from Sickleport," Valentia admitted after a pause.

Mags' eyes widened. Sickleport was less than an hour away by rowboat from Creneis, but it didn't explain why Valentia was sorry.

"Remember Genny and Calder?" Valentia said, her voice now the barest whisper.

Mags paled. How could she forget? Esperanza's kidnapping tormented her nights with greater vigor than the Games themselves or even Kyle's pleading green eyes. She would never forget that fear, the burning soul-sucking awareness that life was a crystal sphere and that yours was about to shatter.

Genny and Calder, like Kyle, had had to perform long hours of communal service to serve their sentence but, unlike him, they had also suffered ten lashes of the chafing hide whip. Mags had made sure their wounds were treated, or Genny would have lost her leg, but the victor now feared it had done little to douse the resentment of the two misguided rebels.

"They've been planning..." Valentia shook her head. "Calder's brain got locked in his head by the waves. He stutters so bad now and he gets so angry. The elders said he deserved it, they treat him like a boy, and most agree, but some... Genny limps and she was Douglas' girl. She fancied herself a lady, marrying to a town boy and all, now she's nothing and she won't work. Her parents kicked her out after a while, telling her they'd only match what she made on her own. Circe, she's twenty-two," Valentia exclaimed, her face a mix of pity and disgust, "but she gets food from somewhere. She's been going off a lot, I think to Creneis. Calder's lost without her now, since none will have him until he apologizes proper." Valentia shook her head again, this time in disapproval. "You don't mess with the elders."

"They believed I turned Sickleport over to the Capitol, that he's the victim because he was flogged but that everyone's forgetting it?" Mags guessed, her voice harsh but resigned. She wasn't as naive as she once had been about what the word 'rebel' could conceal.

"Mags, I don't know. I just know something's on. Genny used to mind me when I was a girl, so I mind her more than most. I'm sorry I didn't care enough to ever tell no-one, but... be careful." Valentia shrugged. "I don't think they can do much, but..."

"Thanks, I'll keep my eyes open." Mags' face fell and she grasped Valentia's hand in hers. "And thank you, for caring enough now to tell me instead of being worried only about yourself, and for this whole week, for never once making an issue about my training Petrel, almost exclusively."

"I'm not as young. I can't dream like he does." Tears misted Valentia's eyes. "My aunt Abril, she caught a sickness," she began, her breath hitching. "It... it sucked her strength from the inside, every day a little more. She shrank, she lost her energy, her mind, her voice." Valentia's horrified eyes were far away. "She was beautiful, I know that. I remember thinking that, Mags," Valentia said softly, grasping the mentor's hands so hard they turned white. "But I can't _see_ it anymore. The sickness, it sucked the memories out too." A choked sob wracked her throat and Mags wrapped her arms tightly around the shivering girl. She shut her eyes to stop stinging tears from falling.

She was the mentor, she couldn't cry.

"All the good memories and beauty." Valentia wiped her nose with the napkin. "I will jump, even if I promised Fills I wouldn't, because if it isn't quick..." Her breath hitched. "I won't, I _can't_ end like Abril, and the Games, they do that. It's worse than death. I don't want it to hurt. I _must_ jump, before the minute is over," she whispered, burying her face in Mags' chest.

"I understand," Mags said, for there was nothing else she could say.

* * *

It was a madness. A stampede.

The wooden floor of the luxurious conference room shook as an army of hysterical Capitolites in the garish sleeveless ripped clothes that had replaced the winter's feathers and furs elbowed their ways towards the victors and escorts.

Next to Mags, Comet promptly disappeared beneath the table that was their only shield against the human tsunami about to crash against them. Mags itched to do the same, but she couldn't afford it.

Vicuña and Rowan, the oldest victor, were the only ones smiling at the advancing sponsors, shoulders squared and arms open. Mags plastered a smile on her face. She locked eyes with Mattock who had to mirror her stiff posture.

The rest was chaos. Voices overlapped, people shoved each other out of the way, people insulted others' choice of tribute with unrestrained glee, sometimes forgetting the mentors struggling to keep up with the ledgers.

" - launch a novel collection, Petrel Zander will incarnate the melding of carnal awakening and the spiritual immaculateness of childhood's waning years. I shall -"

"He'll incarnate the melding of rotting flesh and cold earth if we have to wait for the end of one of your speeches. Do let the others come close, Aquarius," Lucian said with an expression of absolute scorn.

Mags bit back a smirk. Lucian was delightful when he insulted Capitolites instead of her or the tributes.

The accused fashion designer glowed red with outrage. "Boy, if your mother was not such a dear friend, I would -"

"Oh my god, you're financing Petrel?" A familiar accented voice squealed. A panting Myia squeezed up to them. "Of course, you are." She giggled. "How could I doubt your sharp eyes and unfailing instinct?"

If the man puffed up any more, he would explode. Mags began to suspect there was a ribcage alteration to give Capitolites a rooster's inflatable chest.

For once, Myia was a blessing. She made introductions and dragged well-known men and women to her stand, vaunting Mags' mentoring skills and appealing to the sponsors' daring streak. The azure-haired wisp of a woman looked enthralled by the attention, and Mags was happy to let her have her minute of glory.

_"You shall damn well buy her a shotgun if I give you my money, you silly man!"_

_"A motorcycle, I'm sure a lad from the technology district can handle a ride. Imagine him, a sweet bike, and that feisty Skye chick, she's a right piece, high maintenance-like, the perfect gal. I'm going to pay extra for you to get them on -"_

_"Do you think Seven will become a Career District?"_

_"Is it legal to sponsor for an powerful aphrodisiac if the tribute is underage? I believe no young man should die without having known -"_

Mags' head was beginning to pound. She wished she'd been given a list of prices, to know the true value of what she had gathered for Petrel and Valentia in the last hour.

"District Six offers two tributes," Bianca called out, "they're fresh, my tributes, rosy and sweet! Sponsor my tributes!" Bianca shouted, her voice rising with every word. She slammed her tarot deck on the table. "Fresh tributes, sponsor one and I'll interrogate the stars reading."

The near empty District Six table was suddenly swarmed by onlookers.

"Ah, the Capitol and its flair for talent," Bianca exclaimed, her hand clutching her heart. "FRESH TRIBUTES," she bellowed again, stunning the crowd with the power of her lungs.

Mags couldn't hold it in anymore and burst into irrepressible gales of laughter. A market place, she should be ashamed to laugh. It was the most inappropriate type of humor, and yet she couldn't stop.

"Gossip," Rye echoed, "sponsor, M'ladies and gentlemen and I'll sell you the juiciest gossip on your favorite victors."

Excited clamor greeted his outrageous claim. Rye spread his arms out with a knowing smirk.

"Rowan, Larix, shut Rye up and I'm giving your girl a tenth of my earnings," Vicuña called. Her safe was by far the fullest even if Mordred's half-naked escort had amassed a sizable sum.

The broader Larix was quick to move. Mags tried not to be too obvious as she stared. She hadn't wanted to barge in the two men's quarters uninvited just to gawk, but was very curious about the oldest living victors.

"Come and get it, maggot-eater," Rye spat, crossing his arms belligerently. "I know stuff, you won't stop me."

"Place your bets ladies and gents," Bianca called with a bright smile.

The drama-starved Capitolites were quick to cooperate, elbowing their way into a ring around the two men.

A bell toll resounded before the victors could start throwing punches. A deathly silence descended on the whole floor.

Mags craned her neck but she couldn't see above the crowd.

An unmistakable voice filled the air, causing Larix to scramble back for his table. "The Games start at two. This isn't a zoo, try to do this in an orderly way, or we will close sponsorships."

Achlys left as quickly as she had come in. People moved out of her way like dried leaves blown away by an autumn gale. Her guard seemed almost superfluous. Needless to say, the President's ensemble was neither sleeveless nor, perish the thought, ripped.

Mags was astounded to see orderly queues form. She could not have imagined an emptier threat, and yet threaten to take the Capitol's brand new shining toy away, and they turned into docile chastised children.

The morning passed by without another incident. It was one o'clock, the tributes, alone with the stylists since after breakfast, were doubtless dressed, fed, their trackers in place, and it was high time to go to the official mentoring room.

Mags grabbed a pile of bank notes before Lucian could lock the safe. She walked up to Bianca.

"That's for the 'fresh tributes' holler," she said with a rueful grin, handing over the money. "I'm not buying Petrel Aquarius' horrid trench coat or whatever it was, exaltation of purity or not."

The woman's eyes grew even huger. She tugged nervously at her silver-brown hair. "Mags, you know what that money could mean."

"And I know what feeling useful means even more, Bianca. Take it, I needed that laugh."

Mags swallowed when the older victor threw her arms around her.

* * *

"The hangman, it was _there_," Bianca said, pointing a trembling finger at the giant screen.

_The ropes Marlin had sold to the Capitol._

Maze of ropes in a tree. Bridges and paths, small and wide linking platforms together, stretching across a small forest the size of Creneis Town.

The twenty-four tributes were being lowered down on twenty-four small platforms which were all linked to a huge central platform from which left a half-dozen rope bridges. Small transparent bags each holding a water bottle and a knife were all over the platform. Twenty bags. The tone was already set.

Cameras zoomed on Petrel and Valentia on the two portable screens before Mags. They wore full protective suit, solid running shoes and thick gloves.

The countdown flashed on every screen and television. Some tributes were weeping from stress, doubled over and clutching their stomachs.

Under the eight mentors' horrified eyes, the blonde Maple from Seven, deathly pale and shivering, fainted.

The platform exploded.

Mags kept her eyes riveted on the screen, not daring to turn towards Rowan and Larix. They'd known her, they'd mentored exclusively for her and fought for sponsors like men on a mission. Vicuña's ten percent were lost before they'd even had a chance to spend them.

The eighteen year old was a mere memory, words and pictures already beginning to fade in the minds of those left behind.

Mags wasn't foolish enough to seek meaning.

The silence was broken by Valentia's desperate scream as she jumped off the starting circle.

"Why did she do that?" Eleven's escort complained. "She was allied with Phyllis. This ruins our strategy."

Mags clenched her fists in sudden rage. _Strategy? That shallow hag had no -_ Mags took a calming breath.

_ Safe journey, Valentia, wherever you are._

3, 2, 1... 0. Cally from Ten, a tall broad-shouldered young woman with powerful running legs, shot through the rope bridge and to the central platform as if chased by all the demons of hell. She grasped a couple of bags and disappeared before Onyx, the second fastest, could arm himself.

The shock of the two girls' death was such that many waited another whole minute to leave the landing platforms.

Febrile and clumsy, the skinny girl from Three, who, Mags couldn't help but notice, had decidedly not gone through with _her_ desire to commit suicide, slipped. Her hands failed to hold on to the ropes. She slid through the nets with a startled shriek.

The undergrowth was thick and softened her fall. She rolled over, scrambling to her feet. Howls caused all tributes to freeze.

Large mutts -genuine dogs?- this time Mags couldn't tell, were rushing towards her.

The girl screamed and tried to run, but the collared dogs, massive beasts almost as big as her, were much swifter. The one in the lead grabbed her by the collar and started dragging her while she screamed, her hands desperately trying to latch on to the grass.

Mags' lips parted in shock when she realized the hounds had dragged the fifteen-year-old up to a ladder climbing back up into the trees.

The tribute's screams had stopped, but she shook her head energetically, terrified at the idea of going back up.

The dogs (mutts?) began to growl, baring gleaming canines.

"I have a fear of heights, damn it!" Lemma shouted in despair.

"Oh right," Comet muttered. Her hands flew to her tactile screen.

Mags mentally jotted down the time.

The disabled boy from Ten, Brandus, cursed loudly and jumped down before he'd even the large platform where Onyx stood patiently, holding a knife and making a pile of the other bags. The nineteen other tributes seemed to wait for someone to distract the armed volunteer from One before risking themselves.

Brandus smiled at the dogs, which now numbered four, and Mags realized that behind his stupid expression hid some keen instinct, and rushed without prompting towards another ladder, bypassing the Career entirely.

"That's a lad," Mattock said with a ghost of a smile.

A fair few seemed to agree, and while the nine feet drop into the undergrowth scared some, Phyllis shouted out at her district partner, a short mixed-race youth with a large nose that looked like it had been broken once too many time, and they both jumped down, with the ease of people used to climbing the trees of Eleven's orchards.

Except this time, the Gamemakers didn't seem to enjoy seeing the loophole exploited. The dogs charged and leaped for the neck.

Mags didn't need to look, the ripping noises, barks and shrieks was enough to make her gag.

"I hate this district," Eleven's escort said, throwing down her tablet. "The one time I get a decent tribute, we don't have recaps until the very end. I _hate_ it!" She growled, slamming the door behind her. She wouldn't go very far, not when the Capitol had to wait half an hour to see who had survived the first minutes of the Games.

"Bad dog," Brandus began to shout on the main screen, milling his arms in an attempt to chase the creatures away, "bad, bad dog, get off the people, get off!"

But it was already too late. The dogs sat down next to the corpses, their jaws dripping with blood and their tails wagging enthusiastically at the upset disabled tribute.

"Mutts," Mags muttered, now certain. She felt sick.

The girl from Three gasped when a parachute with pills bumped into the back of her head.

Mags' eyes flickered to the clock. _Two minute fifteen seconds_. Sponsor gifts took two to three minutes to deliver. She would remember that.

"We all need to run together, now!" Petrel suddenly bellowed, rushing out of his narrow bridge.

"Gotcha," Sable shot back, darting out.

Onyx hesitated, and Mags could see his calculating mind assessing that Petrel was no real danger and that Sable was his district partner.

Others mistook his inaction for indecision. Jack, Skye, Barclay, Mordred... soon they all were running.

Onyx bolted, straight for the girl from the power district. Skye had distinguished herself with her throwing knives in addition to her fiery personality, a fatal mistake.

The volunteer from One and Mordred seemed to have split the platform between them, and either armed or bare-fisted, turned on the other tributes.

Skye snapped her head to the side and leaped, seemingly at random. Mags then saw she had a parachute in her hand. She flashed the white-haired escort from Five a curious glance. The ample woman had incredibly swift reflexes.

Onyx was almost on her. Skye threw the contents of the parachute to the ground.

Smoke filled the screens.

"Grand idea, now we can't see a thing," Two's bare-chested escort exclaimed, slapping his thigh in frustration.

"I'm paid to keep her alive," Five's snapped.

"Shut up, yeh loons," Rye grunted, spitting out a beer cap.

A girlish scream cut the air, followed by a grunt of pain and a deeper, heart-rending cry. Fist hitting flesh, feet pounding wood, wails of pain or fear, calls between desperate allies, the smoke hid a pandemonium, but not for long.

Petrel stood frozen on a rope-bridge that would have lead him to relative safety -_but only if he moved!_-, Sable was waiting right behind him, eyeing the massacre on the main platform with wide curious eyes.

Mags moved her lips soundlessly, begging them to flee.

The brunette from Five was out, empty handed and bloodied but running. The boy from Nine who'd been right behind her had succumbed from Onyx's blind attacks, setting off a litany of colorful curses from Rye. Vicuña's protegé, to whom all the tributes gave a wide berth, had now turned on the doe-eyed girl from Eight, who stood paralyzed at the edge of the platform, stuck between Onyx, her landing zone and the hounds.

Her death was swift and silent. Mags blinked, unable to believe someone could go just like that, snuffed out like a candle. Her mind struggled to process the deaths as real.

Comet's gasp drew her attention to the wiry Jack. The boy was struggling with the nets all around the platform, cornered by Barclay. A violent kick in the ribs ripped the ropes from his hands.

Jack fell. The wind knocked out of him as he hit the ground.

The hounds were already running. He curled up, shivering as he awaited his inevitable gruesome death.

The mutts stopped besides him and began to shove him with their snouts, leading him to another ladder. Brandus seemed to decide then that he had spend enough time on the ground and started climbing with Jack, helping the wounded boy up.

_Don't fall intentionally._ The rules were clear.

Ragged wheezes caught the attention of the treacherous cameras of the main screen who now zoomed on Mordred's victims. The wooden platform was slick with blood.

A sob escaped Bianca's lips. The limp boy was short and skinny, so much younger than his sixteen years. His hands were still clutching the piece of rope strangling his neck. His even younger district partner, the second of Valentia's new friends, had disappeared, clutching the hand of Alexandra from Two, an enemy evidently turned ally in the whirlwind of the Games.

Another corpse lay face down on the filthy platform, his red hair sticky with blood and the number eight woven into his uniform.

District Eight's young escort left the room in tears.

Mags stood up to hand the sobbing Bianca a tissue, sparing the too-silent mentors from Seven a worried glance. They still looked under shock.

Mordred was swinging torn pieces of rope like whips, his eyes lingering on Onyx, who was slowly disappearing between the trees.

"You forgot your bag, stupid," Petrel shouted, hitting Mordred square on the head with one of the free bags. He'd taken only one other, but Sable had snatched three.

The broad-chested young man stumbled as he made the mistake of wanting to grab the falling bag. His fingers wrapped around the handle but the movement had unbalanced him. He caught himself _in extremis_ on one of the longer ropes. The mutts were circling under him jumping up with fangs bared, almost grazing his shoes, their barks covering every other noise.

Mordred pulled himself back up with one arm, displaying fearsome strength. He groaned as he climbed back on the platform, his cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

"They're all fleeing now, do we chase or explore?" Barclay asked, his arms tightly crossed. "Onyx's gone after the Three girl, we should keep away from him. Two's a threat."

"Leave Alex alone, she's not mine, or yours, to kill," Mordred replied sternly. "The large alliance is still intact, Skye's too pretty to stay wounded long, let's go."

Jack, Skye, the couple from Twelve and now Brandus too.

_ Those poor children._

Petrel and Sable were alive. Mags clenched her jaw, forcing her mind to concentrate on what she could buy.

The list of goods blurred before her eyes.

* * *

Twenty minutes, it had just been twenty minutes. Mags could barely breathe.

The sponsor phone next to her rang. She mechanically stood up to go to the nearest booth, where she could have some privacy. Vicuña and Mattock were already negotiating.

"District Four, Mags, listening," she said, her voice still hoarse.

"Hello, Mags?" A high-pitched voice said.

"Yes, it's me. Would you like to sponsor a District Four tribute?"

"It's Plutarch," the voice exclaimed, bubbling with excitement, "and I want Petrel to win. How much do you need for a big spiked mace?"

Mags almost dropped the phone. _Plutarch? _He'd seen this... _bloodbath_, and he wanted to sponsor? She could hear the smile on his face, and couldn't comprehend it.

"Mags? Can you hear me?"

"How much do you have, Plutarch?" She said, forcing herself to sound natural. The boy was nine. _Nine_!

The number Plutarch proudly gave was enough for a fluorescent bandage, maybe a bottle of juice or a small spear, but Petrel had other sponsors, Mags could lie.

The young woman felt terrible, for it was also enough to buy a small rowboat in Four, so doubtless all of Plutarch's earnings. It was disgusting.

"Actually, I changed my mind," Plutarch said, "he needs an ax or something cool to hack the ropes and make the others fall."

"He'll get a large weapon soon," she promised. And she figured Sable wouldn't be getting poisons from Vicuña, so she'd better start looking.

She wanted to go home so badly.

It had barely begun.

* * *

**Character recap:**

**Living tributes: 15/24**

**District One: mentor Vicuña (7)**

Onyx, 18 volunteer (killed 2)

Sable, 17 volunteer

**District Two:**

Mordred, 18 volunteer. (killed 3)

Alexandra, 16 reaped

**District Three: mentor Comet (8)**

Lemma, 15, volunteered

Jack, 16, wounded

**District Four: Mags (9)**

Valentia, 16, DEAD (Early start)

Petrel, 12, volunteer

**District Five:**

Skye, 15, wounded

boy, 18, DEAD (Mordred)

**District 6: Bianca (4)**

girl, 15

boy, 16 DEAD (Mordred)

**District 7: Rowan (1) and Larix (3)**

Maple 18, DEAD (Early start)

Barclay 17

**District 8**

girl, 14 DEAD (Onyx)

boy, 18 DEAD (Mordred)

**District 9: Rye (6)**

girl 18

boy, 18 DEAD (Onyx)

**District 10: Mattock (5)**

Cally, 18

Brandus, 16, volunteered, disabled.

**District 11**

Phyllis 18 DEAD (Hounds)

boy 17 DEAD (Hounds)

**District 12**

girl, 17

boy, 16

* * *

**Please review.^^**


	47. And then there was one

**Lots of mentor interactions****. You won't see games so detailed again. Except maybe Finnick's, but I won't promise anything yet^^.**

**The title is inspired from Agatha Christie's novel "And Then There Were None"**

**Thank you for your reviews.**

* * *

_Date: Day one of the 10th Games_

"I'll be taking a drink and checking on Harmony," the escort from Twelve said, casually reapplying gel to his golden hair as he stood up. "She's much too sensitive. Please keep an eye on my tributes for a sec, Apollonia."

The escort from Eleven nodded at her colleague. "Sure."

Mags deduced Harmony was the escort from Eight. The young woman had left in tears and had not come back, unlike the muscled Apollonia who had come back to watch after her initial fit, an eager glitter to her emerald eyes.

"Twelve doesn't have much to work with, do they?" The escort said, her purple lips curling. She chuckled wryly."I wouldn't have sponsored them either…"

Mags brought her eyes back on Petrel and Sable. Her head pounded fiercely. She wasn't used to look a screen so intently for so long but the alternatives were worse. Denial, distraction, an urgent need to find a gift that would meet Petrel's needs, urging sponsors to fund his survival, everything contributed to postpone the moment the deaths would sink in. She was a sailor in a drifting boat, and would be sucked down at any moment.

The arena protected the untrained, for progress was slow on the net bridges, but the stable lower paths too few to provide escape from the relentless hunters. A myriad of bridges linked the higher branches, a tantalizing promise of safety, but the ladders and ropes to access them were steep and chafing.

Mordred and Barclay had been given a resin-like paste enabling their shoes to stick to bark and pursue the large alliance, despite the five methodically cutting the paths behind them. Unless sponsors tipped the odds, the last to tire would win.

Mags decided weapons could come second. Petrel and Sable had knives already and were far enough from any other tribute to make harnesses, draws and safety ropes the priority. They wouldn't be able to climb to the upper levels through sheer muscle alone.

"That's clever," Two's escort said as Petrel strapped himself on. "Hey, why can't I –" the man started cursing as he realized harnesses were now unavailable.

It had been the same with the resin. The Gamemakers wanted mentors to be inventive.

"Would be a bore if everyone got the same thing," Rye said, erupting into raucous drunken laughter. There was no mirth in it. "Tough, pal, I feel for you." The unwashed man suddenly brought his fist down on his table. "Aw shit, how d'you undo on these ruddy things? I didn't want to send her that! My thumb slipped. Where's the undo?"

"Don't worry, no sponsor gift kills," Apollonia said, smirking at Rye's misfortune.

Three minutes later, a white box landed next to the brown-haired tribute who, like Cally from Ten, had decided to climb as high as possible, where the bridges became thinner and more perilous, but also more numerous. The way Demerara's almond-shaped eyes lit up in hope upon seeing the gift was heart-breaking.

The young woman furrowed her brow when she unwrapped a beacon-light the size of her head. "Is it going to get really dark? Cold maybe? Should I turn it on right now? But won't the light make me a target? Do I need it to chase animals away at night? Bats?"

Seeing the eighteen year old confusedly enumerate the possibilities made Mags seriously debate sending Demerara a note herself, telling her that her mentor was a clumsy idiot, but Mags couldn't send notes without a gift. What did the girl need that Mags could afford? More water? No, water was much more expensive then weapons...

"She might find a way to put that to good use…" Vicuña said, her dismayed expression belying her words.

"What's special about Onyx? Why him?" Apollonia said, chewing on her tactile stick thoughtfully.

"Most of those who sought me out were immature and lacked the skills, or even the true will to train. They wanted easy glory," Vicuña answered, "Onyx the right character and purpose. You remember his interview. He lost everything, he has everything to gain."

Mags remembered quite well. Onyx's family had lived a small but luxurious timepieces workshop until it was burned down by a jealous competitor. They'd been on the streets for months until Onyx had decided to train. _How much was staging and how much was true? _

"Even if he dies, his family will get enough to rebuild the workshop," Vicuña pursued, "but he fears death with a passion that will keep him alive."

"Why would his family get money?" Rowan snapped with a fierce scowl. "That doesn't happen to us."

"Because I asked the bigger sponsors to give a twentieth more for that purpose, promising to take their suggestions for gifts into account first," Vicuña said with a bright smile that didn't fully reach her eyes. "I take care of my tributes."

_Hence the cape with those awful skulls. Was Vicuña taking care of Sable too?_

"And _why _has he been following Lemma specifically for the last half hour?" Comet said, her face tight with rage. "How does it feel Vicuña, to mold innocents into killers?" She kept her eyes on her lap, her fingers trembling over the portable screen.

"You're a hypocrite, Comet," Vicuña replied, scorn infusing her calm voice. "Were you sincere in your desire to save Lemma, you'd dress like a human being in public and talk to sponsors, try to make them like you and like her. You don't want the responsibility, so don't come whining when they die."

"Volunteers die too," Comet spat, wrapping her colored rags tighter around her body. "There's no trick to beating the Games. Too many parameters, and only you are arrogant enough to believe luck is a mere facet of skill."

"The odds are acceptable to some, real life isn't always rosier than the Games," Vicuña replied, "training-"

"Is illegal," Mattock interrupted. "Peacekeeper Districts are getting a pass because you're favored. We'd risk our lives training kids, and for what? The joy of saving one in five? Yours will always be better prepared. We all won because of flukes."

"You –"

"This conversation is over," Mags cut in. "And don't tell me your sanity hinges on insulting each other."

"Just Vicuña," Comet mumbled, her glowering eyes still not leaving her lap.

Mags had never had the urge to spank an adult woman before. "Stop making it all worse, it's bad enough as it is."

"It's hard to be friends when they're out to kill your kids," Bianca pointed out.

"Your kids?" Mags said, her throat tightening. Yes, the Capitol did everything for them to feel so. "They're strangers who were made to spend time with you precisely so you would start to care. They're all people, all twenty four of them. They all have a story. Rye asked me who I hated enough to see win, well, if that's your opinion too, don't curse Vicuña when they die."

Mentors couldn't afford to keep tearing at each other like this. It wouldn't save lives and the poisonous atmosphere was sapping the last of Mags' strength.

"Why'd you hate the winner?" Apollonia said. "Victors from other districts mean mentors that will be competing with you, I can understand, but your own district?"

Mags snapped her mouth shut. Her eyes fell back to Petrel and Sable, unseeing. She'd stupidly forgotten that they weren't alone. _How could she have?_ She couldn't fix everything. Kyle had taught her that. She couldn't allow the Capitol to have to teach her the lesson again. Mags forced the mounting scream of rage back down her throat. She couldn't. She couldn't stand by and watch those people, her colleagues, people who'd gone through the same hell as she had, alienate each other like this.

They needed the escorts somewhere else. They couldn't wear a mask all day long, not in these conditions. They'd go insane.

The escort from Two snorted. "Because they're all bonkers, can't you tell? This circus is better than the Games. You should listen to each other, guys."

_Circus_? From a man who strutted around half-naked to show his glistening abs and brushed body hair? He could go hang.

Apollonia wasn't satisfied with the answer. "Mags, I asked you a question."

Vicuña blessedly came to her rescue. "Winning the games does not necessarily mean you have the strength to be a victor, which is why I try to make sure mine are prepared," she said. "It is like entertainment, how many stars succumb to drugs? It's the fame, it's too strong for some."

Mags' jaw dropped slightly when she saw the escorts' faces light up with understanding. Fame? They believed it was the _fame_?

"No, no, don't turn it on," Rye exclaimed, shouting at the screen, "Damn it, Dems, don't turn it –"

The wail of sirens blared through the speakers. Mags hands flew to her ears, grimacing in pain.

Startled, Demerara let the lit beacon go, jumping backwards out of instinct.

Her feet missed the rope. The mesh was too wide to restrain her.

Time slowed, chairs were pushed back, but outstretched hand could only graze the unyielding screen, helpless to break the fall.

Demerara slid, her screams unheard amidst the siren's wails. Her head struck a lower platform.

She was dead before she hit the ground.

Mags squeezed her eyes shut, stifling a sob with her hand. _Why hadn't she sent that note!_

_Why would she have bothered to try to save that girl?_ Fickle and sharp, reason only made it worse.

The siren stopped. A mutt had destroyed the beacon.

"Fuck, damn it," Rye shouted, kicking his chair aside, "how can there not be a fucking undo button on this piece of crap?"

The screen exploded as the red-faced man threw it down. He slammed the table backwards, upturning its contents. Scotch spilled all over the floor, like a pool of maroon blood spreading towards them.

"Watch out," Two's escort exclaimed, grasping the smaller man in a headlock, "are you mad?"

"Mad? You joking, pal?" Rye roared, twisting and tearing at the Capitolite in a effort to break free.

Suddenly, Rye's eyes rolled backwards. He fell on his knees, a stunned, unfocused look on his face. A needle was sticking out of his shoulder.

Vicuña removed the syringe and pointed towards the open emergency medical box. "Sedatives," she said, her face grim.

_Sedatives for mentors who got upset for having accidentally murdered their own tribute? Truly the Capitol had thought of everything_. Anger seared through Mags' limbs. She forced herself to sit when she realized she was standing. _Could they not display even a sliver of humanity?_

"The scrawny girl isn't worth you getting killed over, Man," Two's escort said seriously, "She had no chance."

"That's what they said about Fife Chican too," Rye slurred, locking eyes with Mags, "Last time I checked, she got pretty far, huh?"

Mags looked away, blinking back tears.

* * *

A cannon blast tore through the air.

Onyx had caught up with Lemma. There had been no fight, just a man with a two handed ax against a cowering girl who had made the mistake of wishing for death on Reaping Day. She tried to beg. He didn't let her, his morbid cape billowing in the wind.

Comet slunk to the floor and brought her knees to her chin, hiding her face from view.

Apollonia gave a dramatic sigh. "She shouldn't have kept going straight, it's obvious the lad was faster."

"We already warned you about the running commentary," Rowan said icily.

The escort wilted against the first victor's gaze.

Laxis still hadn't said a word since Maple's death, his eyes never left the screen.

Mags felt burning shame rise to cheeks. Her eyes stayed dry and she hated herself for it. She didn't even know all of the tributes' names and she had forgotten most of the interviews, most of the personal facts, without even trying. Not caring, growing detached, was instinct, born of the brain's wish for self-preservation, and yet the youngest victor loathed the thought of growing so desensitized to death that she could shrug off the cannon blasts.

"To Lemma," Rye said, drowning a mug-sized glass. His hands shook as he wiped his dribbling chin, alcohol drawing a mockery of a smile on his unshaven face.

The man was twenty years old._ Twenty._ Mags swallowed, terror crushing her in a bear-hug. _Slipping would be so easy._ Without her mother, Esperanza, Glynn, Marlin, Marquise... all those who had faith in her, who steadied her when she stumbled… Mags didn't want to imagine what she'd have become without them.

She didn't need to imagine. She saw it all around her.

* * *

The large alliance had managed to stay out of reach of Barclay and Mordred, using the huge cutting pincers Skye had received in addition to medicine for her knife slash, but they'd cut a bridge too many. The five tributes were stuck on a platform with only one way out and Mordred was waiting at the other end. Him and Barclay couldn't reach them, or Skye would cut the bridge and make him fall on the mud invested ground, but they would suffer the same fate were they to try to get close enough to hit their pursuers with a knife.

"He he, sorry guys," Two's escort snickered out of the blue, "this is too good."

Mags held her breath. All she wanted was to stand up and leave, to run far away from the tower, to go where the air was fresh and the sight of death a bad memory. A lead weight on her stomach kept her glued to her chair.

The exasperated-looking volunteer ripped open the package. Mordred's patience had evaporated after an hour of breakneck chase in the treacherous ropes.

Barclay read the note with a growing smile. "Aim for the lower branches, they will catch fire. We've got them, Mordred. If they go down the mutts will come."

A rocket_. An exploding rocket._ Mags paled.

"Why not a frigging flame thrower while you're at it?" Five's escort said.

"Get over yourself. Skye is a cutie, but Mordred's a winner."

A hiss chilled the room. "You kill Jack, I'm tearing your eyeballs out."

The bare-chested man eyed Comet warily. "Cool it, it's the game."

_A game of flesh and blood_._ A game no sane man should wish to play._ "You'll set fire to the whole arena," Mags said hoarsely.

"Nah," the escort replied confidently.

_Yes_. The rocket sailed straight for where the bridge was tied to the bigger branches. The five trapped tributes dived for cover, soon swallowed by a deafening blast of fire.

Bianca yelped when the screen cracked and went blue.

"No one ever broke a camera before, my hat is off to you," Apollonia said with a laugh.

The mentors were too shaken to say anything.

When the picture reappeared, the ropes and leaves all around the platform were burning brightly.

"It'll spread fast," Rowan said grimly.

The body-built escort shrank on himself upon hearing the former wood ranger's prediction.

"We need to get the dogs away to use the ladder and get to the one over there," Jack said urgently, scrambling back to his feet. The heat sucked the water out of them, and tears of fear and shock mixed with rivers of sweat on his long face.

"You know animals," Skye said, turning to Brandus. "How'd you chase a dog away?"

"With a stick, hold it before you when it jumps," the boy from Ten replied promptly. He lowered his voice and bowed his head. "but these dogs aren't _real_ dogs. They're bad."

"How'd you chase bad dogs then?" The brunette pressed, wiping her flushed face with the back of her glove.

Brandus crossed his arms, shaking his head furiously at the ground. "I don't know."

"Try harder," Skye snapped, wiping sweat from her face as she tried to assess the rising flames.

"I don't know," the disabled boy bellowed. He broke off a branch and began beating the burning rope with it, grunting with every blow. His beating grew more and more frantic as he failed to stop the fire.

"Stop it, Brandus. You'll poke someone's eye out," the blonde from Twelve exclaimed.

Mags winced, feeling terrible for them all.

"Bingo," Five's shapely escort exclaimed. "Found you, dog repellent. Take that, Roman."

Her colleague from Two rolled his eyes. "You can try, but you'd better just admit defeat."

Mags was aghast, and not just by the casual banter. The dog repellent was _fireworks_. The five trapped tributes shared similar horrified looks when they read the note.

The gangly youth from Twelve was the first to step back. "It's advanced stuff, your call, Jack."

"Advanced?" The boy from Three coughed smoke out of his lungs. "No, fireworks is basic, _really_ basic, they don't do that in the mines? Hurry to get the box down before it explodes."

His ally jumped back further. "It explodes? _See,_ it's advanced."

"You cowards,"Skye snapped, "I'll do it."

"Nope, you don't, you're the only one who knows weapons," Jack said, grasping the girl's wrists before she could lift the box.

"I can –"

"Fine," the Twelve boy huffed, cutting Brandus off. "I'm going to need a hand, Delly."

His district partner nodded, terror and determination warring on her freckled face.

"I said I can -,"

"You _can't_, Brandus. Just do what we say," Skye ordered.

The hounds began to run as soon as Delly had put a foot on the undergrowth. Luckily, the fireworks were ready, with just a fuse to be lit.

"This had better work," Skye said through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to run as the charging mutts' growls grew nearer.

The night exploded in a shower of colors. Green, blue and purple flowers reached out for the stars, blossoming in a shower of glittering sparks. Mags couldn't help staring in awe, momentarily forgetting where she was. She had never seen fireworks before.

Reality was quick to sink its fangs back into her flesh.

Desperate shrieks filled the air. "My hand, Delly, MY HAND," the boy from Twelve screamed, his voice covering several octaves as he clutched the burned limb. He tripped, howling in pain.

Skye grabbed Jack before he could slow. "Follow the simpleton," she said harshly, jerking her head towards the panicked Brandus who had accelerated upon hearing his ally's screams, "don't think or you'll die."

Delly hesitated and doubled back to help her district partner. Mags shut her eyes, inwardly weeping at the girl's foolish bravery. No human being would run fast enough to escape the fanged monsters now.

Two cannon shots soon tore through the air, followed by five hovercrafts. The fire brigade.

"The Games will last less than three days if this goes on," the horrified escort from Twelve said. "Maybe we should limit the sponsor gifts to simpler things, make it a little more challenging for them."

"I'm sure the gamemakers will catch on," Mattock muttered.

A knock caused them all to start.

A smartly dressed young man opened the door. "The genius who ordered the rocket is urged to refrain himself in the future," he said with a tight smile.

Roman squared his shoulders, trying to keep some dignity despite the burning shame. "Yes, Gamemaker Crispus, it won't happen again."

* * *

"Are you certain, Mags?"

"Absolutely. Now hurry, they won't all be sleeping for long."

Mags repressed a yawn. The clocks had chimed one o'clock, she needed sleep herself. No wonder mentors abused of sleep-regulating pills. Surveillance was inhuman. She knew she had the right to ask Lucian to replace her for a couple of hours, but he'd probably fall asleep in front of the monitors just to spite her.

"I'm not sure Evadne will, -"

"Vicuña, we must try. We need privacy. Lucian and all the other escorts have their own room. The mentor-escorts can get one too. The President doesn't want the image of victors to be as unsavory as reality is."

The Career shook her head. "I think a lot of Capitolites are happy to know victors are broken. They admire us, but the hate left over by the Dark Days isn't all gone. The escort's won't like what they'll see as a privilege taken away."

Mags couldn't care less about the escorts' feelings on the matter. She couldn't let them flaunt their popularity with sponsors and engage in revolting contests, using the tributes as pawns, and do nothing. The Games had stolen her illusions and with victory had come an invisible gun pressed to her head every minute of every day, but she would not let them shatter what remained of her pride.

"The only reason there hasn't been an assault is because you keep the others' aggressiveness focused on you instead of the escorts and were fast enough to sedate Rye," she said tersely.

"Why do you keep defending me?"

"Because they're being ridiculous and we should show some solidarity with each other. We've all been through the Games, it should mean something."

Vicuña chuckled. "You're cute, Mags."

The eighteen year old punched Vicuña's shoulder in annoyance. _Cute._ She'd show Vicuña cute. It was too easy to dismiss decent people as naive because you wanted to feel all tough and real when all you really were was rude and bitter.

"Ladies, I was about leave, what do you want?"

Mags froze upon seeing the President in the corridor. She schooled her features, swallowing back her anger. "We need to change things before we have a situation," she blurted.

"That sounds very serious indeed."

Achlys was making fun of her. _Brilliant._ Mags took a deep breath and started explaining. The woman had to see that having escorts and mentors in the same room was _wrong_.

"So you are telling me that if all those hateful rebels can't express their hateful feelings, they'll assault the sponsors in public?" The President summed up.

Mags was confident she hadn't phrased it quite like that.

"They're not rebels, Ma'am. I mean, I don't know, they just hate you because they were reaped and they can't turn their lives around, it's got nothing to do with organized uprisings. They need psychologists but obviously they can't go talk with the district ones. They need to be kept at least outwardly sane and it's hard when the escorts keep asking why we're upset when a weak tribute dies. We can't act every minute of every day. Vicuña and I can adapt, but some of the others are too fragile and they're getting worse."

"You're very direct when you're exhausted," Achlys said with a small smile.

Mags blushed, sudden fear making her hair rise on end. "I just want to avoid avoidable problems, Madam President. It'd all go smoother if we had some space."

Achlys laughed. "I'll have the escorts go to another room. Enjoy your freedom, I'll have cameras placed by next year. I'll need to find people who won't be tempted to leak the live Game files before the replays and won't be shocked by the contents of your… therapeutic… conversations." She turned to Vicuña. "Had you not spotted this?"

"I had thought it inevitable," Vicuña said, reddening. "The victors are adults, they should learn to deal with their problems like adults."

"Such faith in people, Vicuña," Achlys said, almost affectionately. "Well, you can't be both a soldier and a builder. Mags, send me a full report on the advancement of your academy by the end of November."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Vicuña eyed her oddly when the President had gone. "You're training Careers?"

"No, no, no," Mags hastily said, "it's to form highly-qualified professionals."

"_Of course_ it is," Vicuña said with a grin. "Neat. I'll have to watch out." She glanced around and lowered her voice. "Evadne sounded in a great mood, no?"

A strangled laugh escaped Mags' lips. "I'm not complaining. Next time I have a brilliant idea after midnight, force me to wait until I've slept. She's right, I talk too much."

A yawn escaped her mouth to stress the point.

"Such beautiful tonsils you have," Vicuña quipped.

Mags threw her a dark glare, stifling a second yawn. "Keep your voice down, I want to sleep."

"Aw you delicate flower, Mags." Vicuña's small smile froze and slowly spread into a delighted grin. "I need to send Onyx-" She broke into a run.

"Send him what?" Mags said, struggling to keep up with the Career mentor.

A _trumpet_.

Vicuña had sent Onyx a trumpet and the noise was awful.

"Onyx can spend a night or two sleeping just a couple of hours, but the others -" Her proud smirk fell as she took in Mags' stony expression. Vicuña had the good grace to look guilty.

"I'll walk you to your room," she said with a strained smile.

Mags was so sick of it all. She wanted to sleep and never wake up.

* * *

_Date: Day two of the 10th Games_

A million pairs of eyes were riveted on the four tributes about to unknowingly collide.

Quiet as squirrels, Alexandra from Two and Dove, the youngest surviving girl, barely made leaves rustle as they slowly made their way between the giant weeping willows.

Petrel and Sable had forsaken discretion for haste. After a night of trumpeting with his ridiculous cloak, Onyx had reached the Western part of the arena, where the austere pines gave way to concealing willows. One glance exchanged with the lean killer patrolling the lower path, and Sable had grabbed Petrel and scrambled off on the narrow bridge as fast as their security harnesses allowed.

The bridge squeaked and swayed. There was not enough space to overtake or cross another tribute without risking a forty feet fall.

Her eyes ringed with shadows, Alexandra lifted her curved blade, prepared to meet the threat front on. The glint of sunlight on metal betrayed her position.

Sable and Petrel froze.

"They must have water, we need that, don't worry," Sable whispered, a hungry smile blooming on her pale face.

Mags took the cue. She had been hoarding like a miser.

"Look, take some," Petrel said, his smile tearing a small sigh out of Mags. She knew the warmth would be short lived, but that instant of hope and joy was like a drop of warm honey down her throat.

Sable finished half the bottle in less than a minute and swiftly handed the rest to her ally.

"They have weapons we need, I'll handle it."

Mags chose a knife with a retractable blade and a sawtooth edge, including a foot long dagger-spike for Petrel.

This time Sable shut her eyes. She clenched the knife, looking upset. "Mags, I respect you, I do," she said, her voice trembling, "but do you mind letting me play? It's not your Games anymore. I didn't need you there for weapons. I'll get them myself."

Mags breath blocked in her throat.

She slowly pushed her chair away from the tactile screen, Sable's words bringing tears in her green eyes._ Why? Why did she seek to kill?_

"You can't stop her, let it go," Bianca whispered, her breath thick with alcohol, "it will go as written. My Dove was never meant to beat the odds."

Mags simply stared at the ground. Player, observer, she didn't know who she was. She knew that for one minute, she had let herself be sucked in too deep.

Dove didn't look eager to fight. "Let's go, Alex."

"Ooh, scared are you? Think I won't chase you if you run?" Sable said, advancing with her brand new weapon.

"Stop strutting," Alexandra said, holding her knife out menacingly. "You're just an ugly nutcase."

Sable bared her teeth. "Mutty, mutt, mutts," she called, whistling sharply as she threw the empty weapons case down, attracting the roamers of the undergrowth.

Not just the roamers. Onyx stood ten feet below, partially hidden by the branches.

"Hold on," the blonde said with a cruel smile. She severed the nearest rope, one of the three maintaining the long narrow bridge balanced.

Petrel, Dove and Alexandra screamed, letting go of their weapons, as the bridge upturned. Petrel was left flailing in the air, struggling to climb back up using his safety rope, but the bridge was much too unstable to provide grip. Sable seemed unconcerned by her very precarious position. Her pale eyes glittered as she saw the screaming Dove fail to hold on. Alexandra was stronger, her arms bulging as she struggled to support her weight.

"Tributes from One like murdering young girls, don't they? Do you think they has unresolved issues?" Comet said.

Mags winced. Lemma's death had revealed a nastiness in the nineteen year old that she wouldn't have imagined.

"The mutts have not attacked Dove," Bianca said, slowly revealing cards before her. "The undergrowth is very soft. The hangman has yet to reveal himself."

Mags forced air into her lungs. Even breathing was painful. "Death is everywhere already."

"The hangman is not death, Mags," Bianca answered in brittle tones, pouring herself another glass, "it is change, sacrifice. Enlightenment has a price."

"Shut up, it's all superstitious nonsense," Comet snapped. "Enlightenment, here? _Please._ I'll ask the Gamemakers to fetch me a spare piece of rope if_ this_ is enlightenment."

"Thank you, Mags, Vicuña, for allowing us to bare our souls in the privacy of this room," Mattock interjected. "It's so much friendlier now," he joked, wariness rather than malice in his tone.

"You believed her, about it being safe to talk this year?" Comet scoffed. "Ha. There's no safe."

Rye raised his glass. "To the nice guy who'll brain her almightiness Achlys with one of those shimmery sparkly chandeliers." The drunk man paused, oblivious to the chill that had descended on the room with his words. "I'd also like to see her naked," he admitted, flashing his horrified colleagues an uneven grin. After a few seconds, Rye nodded thoughtfully. "Look at that, I'm alive," he said. "The greatest murderer of them all didn't lie about the surveillance."

Rowan burst into thick laughter, and many mentors found themselves cracking a smile. Mags couldn't find it in her to share their mirth.

Alexandra from Two, with a desperate hip movement, had let go in the hope of landing on the bridge underneath.

She succeeded.

And saw Onyx waiting less than a yard away, ax in hand.

"No, Onyx. You really need an ally, _trust me_," Alexandra quickly said with an extra bright smile.

The young man stared down at her, but his hesitation meant volumes. "You dropped your weapons, and your ally."

"Ally, whose ally? You're my ally," the girl replied in the same forced tone.

The lean volunteer hesitated, he then lowered his large ax slightly. "I can use an ally for a time."

"Don't play like that," Vicuña whispered crossly.

"What did that girl ever do to you?" Larix said, speaking out for the first time in days.

"I'm thinking about what losing an ally will do to Onyx," Vicuña snapped.

Vicuña didn't have to think long. Blood soon spilled from Alexandra's lips. She fell forward, caught by her ally of forty seconds, a simple knife sticking out of her back. Her gasps turned into thick labored groans. She couldn't even breathe well enough to scream.

Sable clapped her hands to snap Onyx out of his stupor. "Put her out of her misery, I can't aim so well twice."

As if she'd done something as mundane as squishing a bug, Sable used her safety rope to lower herself behind the agonizing sixteen year old before cutting her harness off.

"She betrayed her ally without a thought, and you'd trust her?" She said with wide eyes. "We're District partners, Onyx. It's not the end yet. District One taught me loyalty."

"Don't trust Sable," Mags muttered, the words leaving her lips unbidden. She didn't want the young man to bring yet more death to the arena, but she couldn't bring herself to want him dead.

Seeing Sable now unarmed, Onyx snapped Alexandra's neck, putting an end to her hoarse screams. "You killed her," he said, a darkness Mags hadn't seen before clouding his stiff features.

"You killed more," Sable pointed out with a shrug. "Are you not loyal to your District?" She giggled. "Petrel can come, he won't hurt you."

Petrel's face scrunched up in outrage, but he had the sense to clamp his mouth shut and not reveal what he thought of such an association. Still dangling in midair, his life depending on the solidity of the harness and safety rope linking him to the upturned bridge. He knew it was not the time to be clever.

Uneasy, Onyx finally nodded. "The boy is no threat, chasing him would be a waste of time." He raised his voice. "Come on, Four. We need to cut the bridges and trap the tributes together."

"Then we set fire to them," Sable slowly said, her whole face illuminating.

Onyx's face fell, replaced by utter horror. "That… takes time, they... they could jump down and be saved by the mutts," he said, looking relieved to have found suitable Career-worthy excuses.

Mags swallowed, finding him rather naive on that. At least there were lines he would not cross...

He cleared his throat. "We'll see. You need a new blade to cut the ropes or we must climb down to get yours back."

A parachute fell next to Sable. She pulled the note out. "Just what I needed," she said, delighted.

_What? _Mags stared._ Where did that come from? Vicuña?_

The wrapped package contained no blade, just an opaque rod.

"Mags?" Vicuña asked, agitation creeping on her face as she realized Petrel's mentor hadn't sent the gift.

Mags held her breath. It wasn't a rod but a _pump_.

A burst of soporific gas knocked Onyx out in one single breath.

Sable's lips bloomed into a grin as the young man groggily struggled not to fall of the supporting wooden beam. She took his shiny ax and lifted the weapon over her head.

With all the strength in her lithe body, she buried it in Onyx's torso. The prone tribute couldn't even attempt to dodge.

Her uniform splattered in blood, she smiled grimly at the corpse when she realized the ax was too deeply embedded in flesh, sinew and wood to be removed.

"I lied," Sable said, her face twisting in a vicious grimace. "District One taught me _hate_. The person who taught me loyalty would have wanted you dead. Home sweet home taught me people will throw mud in your face and laugh because they can."

The blonde laughed pointedly before skipping back to where Petrel was, hanging in midair by his harness, to direct him down next to her. The boy's face had lost all color, but he did as Sable said.

_I will come back to haunt everyone who was mean to me. _Mags wondered what she had done, for the haunting high-pitched laughter still resounded in her ears, chilling her whole body.

"Showy sponsor gifts." Bianca sighed. "We do what we must to follow the Capitol's orders. Just like you did last year, when you blamed the train crash on my little ones," the victor from Six said, her eyes on her cards once more, but not before Mags could see her tears. "It's nothing personal," Bianca finished, her voice breaking.

_Bianca? Bianca had sent the gift?_ Mags blinked, overwhelmed.

Vicuña was furious. "Your tributes had no chance! Onyx started out favorite."

"Which is why the crowds must be wild to see him die so soon after his flawless set of kills," Bianca replied, "The Games are fickle and I've just proved how much power sponsors have by tipping the odds with a simple poison gas."

"Sable is from District One, I am in charge of her sponsor gifts, not you!"

"Maybe you should bring that system flaw up to President Achlys, tell her to instate rules," Bianca said with forced calm, taking a sip of her glass of rum.

"Vicuña," Mags warned as the wrathful blonde stepped too close to Bianca for comfort. She put an arm around Vicuña's back, whispering in her ear. "It's unfair and inhuman, it always was and always will be, don't have them make you mentor in another room, alone, it'll break you."

The Career snapped towards her. Her jaw tightened, her lips opening but the words blocked in her throat. She stepped away from the other victors and strode out of the room.

"It hurts when the person you really to win dies in such an unpredictable manner, doesn't it?" Larix called, slouched on the sofa next to Rowan, who mentored Barclay alone.

"Larix, shut up, Vicuña didn't kill Maple," Mags snapped. "Stop being so horrid to each other."

Vicuña slammed the door behind her.

* * *

_Date: Day three of the 10th Games_

Mags stood up when Vicuña left for the bathroom and followed the blonde. She tensed when the stone-faced Vicuña held the door for her.

"About Bianca sponsoring Sable, I…"

"Don't," Vicuña said,"you were nice to Bianca, nicer than any of us, and she had the opportunity to repay you and kill the big _evil _trained tribute. I get it. I don't blame you."

She glared when Mags made a move to speak. "I don't want to talk about it."

Mags squeezed her arm. She knew Vicuña had cared more for Onyx than she'd ever want to admit. Of all the mentors, the blonde was the one who had truly believed she'd be taking someone home.

* * *

"Look, the retard. He'll be easy."

Sable's loud cruel words drove Brandus into a rage. The burly boy, already out of his mind from stress, lack of sleep and dehydration, charged towards the two armed tribute with an animal roar.

He cried out as his foot slipped and his ankle twisted in the ropes.

Sable had him at point blank range.

"No!" Petrel jumped on her, desperate to tear the knife out of her hand. "You can't kill him," he exclaimed, struggling against the stronger girl. "It's wrong to take advantage of people like him, you can't!"

"Get off, I'll hurt you," Sable said, elbowing him in the gut to get her weapon back.

Panting, Brandus had forced himself back up. With a grunt, he bodily launched himself on Sable, his huge fist collided with her face. A sickening crunch filled the room as her jawbone exploded. Her head lolled at an impossible angle.

Pale and fragile as a doll, her pale eyes frozen in eternal surprise, Sable Lockley fell.

"Mags," Vicuña said, struggling to keep her emotions under control, "if your kid doesn't protect his ally, there's not much I can do."

Mags was too depressed to say anything. She'd known Sable would die, but a part of her had craved to give meaning to it, at least for Constantine.

"You're not supposed to hit girls," Petrel told Brandus angrily, tears spilling from his eyes. "You weren't supposed to hit her," he repeated, grasping the ropes next to him as he stared down at the mangled body lying fifteen feet below.

"She tried to kill me first."

Petrel scowled, shock sending tremors in his whole body. "She was my ally, though," he said, so upset he was barely intelligible.

"Sorry," Brandus said, his face crumpling.

Petrel's shaking stopped when he saw the burly tribute from Ten curl up and start sobbing, clutching his ankle disconsolately. It was at that moment that Mags truly saw Brandus as a child. A lost young boy trapped in a man's body.

Petrel must have seen it too, for he wiped his tears and straightened, a set expression replacing his previous horror.

"Hey, don't cry, it's okay, it's the Hunger Games," Petrel said, grasping Brandus' shoulder, "you gotta do what you gotta do. Come on, we have to stay together."

Mags nodded, impressed. So much potential. This time, she couldn't stop the tears.

"Why d'you quit your old alliance?" Petrel said after a while.

"We fought. They wanted my weapon," Brandus said, taking out his gleaming sickle. "They said I was too stupid to use it proper. Skye kept telling me what to do."

"That's mean."

"Yes, very. We fought and I left. I was scared they'd hurt me."

"I won't hurt you."

Brandus' breath hitched again. "I'm real sorry. I didn't mean to hit her, she scared me."

"You gotta do what you gotta do," Petrel repeated, slapping the boy on the arm as he stared at his feet moodily, careful not to twist his own ankle on the ropes.

* * *

Dove, turned febrile by the days' events and desperate for an ally, had forgotten that mutts and treacherous ropes were not the only danger of the Hunger Games.

Mordred and Barclay found her first.

* * *

_Date: Games 10, Day four_

Long spikes now covered the undergrowth, and all knew the merry jumping down days were over.

In exchange for shielding Barclay from the chore of killing, Mordred treated him like a servant. Mags objectively found Barclay was getting the better end of the deal, since the two boys shared supplies equally, but Barclay soon began to take it as an insult to his manhood.

When he declared loud enough for every camera in a fifty yard radius to hear that he would gift the Capitol with a kill, Rowan turned to Mattock, his jaw clenched with disgust.

"Do you want me to sponsor Cally or Brandus?"

"The hypocrisy," Vicuña whispered, too low for the others to hear.

* * *

After a heated argument with Mordred -in which Mags found that Mordred gave in very quickly - Barclay ambushed Skye and Jack, confident that his ally had his back.

Mordred didn't move, proving Mags' chilling suspicions right. He remained shielded behind a tree trunk, as Skye, woken by Jack's dying screams, slashed Barclay's throat.

Skye, Petrel, Brandus, Mordred and the elusive Cally from Ten. It would be over soon.

The attractive brunette from Five slowly advanced, a gleaming chain-mail covering her whole body, branding her as the crowd's favorite.

"It's convenient to have a girl kill your_ ally_, it avoids making you look bad, huh?" She said, tightening her grip on her throwing knife. "You're nothing but a traitor. Murdering filth, no better than the thugs left to rot in the sun."

Mordred stood stiff, his whole body trembling like a bear about to charge. Mags waited for the moment he'd snap and rush towards the fifteen year old.

"Did I frighten the fight out of you, big boy? It's fine when they're unarmed, but when there's a real fight to be had, you tuck tail and leave," Skye taunted, clutching her throwing knife in her right hand. "Aren't they proud and tough the men of District Two. Is that what your mother taught you? To flee like a pussy cat in face of danger?"

Mordred shook his head, a snarl escaping his lips, but, to everyone's surprise, he turned away and fled.

Rye booed.

"He's going to win," Vicuña declared.

* * *

"We go now," Brandus insisted, his voice hitching with panic as Petrel refused to accept 'this tree is cursed' as an excuse to leave their hideout.

The nerve-wracking situation had gotten the better of Petrel's temper. The twelve year old snapped. "It's just creaking, shut up now, Brandus. You're being stupid," he said.

Brandus balled his fists, his face growing purple."I'm not stupid," he shouted, his face streaked with tears of rage, "I'm not! We go down _now."_

Petrel could do nothing as the crazed tribute grabbed him and forced him down the steel ladder. By pushing him forward. Petrel had no way of finding a grip. Merciless gleaming spikes broke his fall.

The disabled boy cried out when he saw Petrel flail and completely miss the platform. His features deformed by horror, Brandus rushed towards the corpse, his desperate screams of denial echoing in the whole arena. He jumped down, running between the foot high spikes, and fell to his knees next to Petrel.

"I'm sorry, don't die! Come on, Petrel, get up!" Brandus pleaded. "He needs sponsors," he shouted, sobs choking his voice, "come on, Petrel! You must get up. I didn't mean it, get up, _please_!"

It seemed forever before a mutt silenced him.

Something died in Mags that day.

* * *

"A boy like that should not have been reaped," Apollonia told Mags when the victor ran into her while looking for Lucian. The muscled woman looked pained for the first time since the initial bloodbath.

"Who should be reaped then?" Mags whispered, her voice trembling. She didn't wait for an answer.

* * *

Nothing was worse than having to watch as the Games dragged on, helpless with acid failure consuming your insides.

Mags would not be made to watch. She hadn't slept in four days, and let herself slide into a blissful drug-induced sleep in the middle of the mentor room. Vicuña would shake her awake if there was a victor.

* * *

_Date: Day five of the tenth Games._

"Mordred won. Skye -"

"I don't want to know," Mags whispered, mourning the blissful haze that now left her at the mercy of their depraved reality. "Not of her, not of Cally."

"You cannot avoid the recap and the interview," Vicuña said, he eyes compassionate as she wrapped her arms around the slighter victor.

_No, she couldn't._

* * *

**Please review. **

**And I promise I will never write such a long chapter again. ;D**


	48. Unrest

**Hello, I've been busy, and I'll remain so for a while. I'll try to squeeze in some writing, but it's been difficult. Thank you all for your reviews and support. This concludes the Tenth Hunger Games.**

* * *

_Year 10, August. One day after Mordred's victory._

Mags' hand went to her ears, as if she could chase away the buzz of a thousand voices like she would an insistent fly. Her green eyes gazed unseeingly before her, sliding over the sea of exhilarated Capitolites.

Her surroundings made no sense.

The soft glittering lights of the overhead projectors were harsh and aggressive on eyes focused too long on a tactile screen. The curtain had risen but she was still trapped in the play.

So many lives snuffed out. Why was she hearing laughter?

It was as if Time had changed its mind and elected to rewind. Mags turned her head to the side, half-expecting to see Petrel come in, a young Poseidon in all his glory.

There was no Petrel, no Sable, no reminder of the luckless teenagers who had stood on this very stage less than a week before.

_Laughter._

Wiped away, secondary characters of a play that would swiftly fall out of fashion.

All save one.

It was Mordred's turn to make an entry.

Not even a child would fail to see the unconditional devotion escort Roman had for his sculpted body, but those long hours of worship were not enough to capture the crowds' attention. The finest crafted clay could not compete with a statue carved in stone.

The stage shook with each of Mordred's steps. He towered over his escort and Flickerman, bronze sun-hardened skin hugging his fearsome muscles. Mags instinctively dropped her gaze, afraid an open stare would be interpreted as a challenge.

"They seriously oiled his body?" Mattock muttered, dispelling the solemn atmosphere. "What's wrong with Capitol men's sense of pride?"

"How can you joke at a time like this?" Mags marveled. Her mood had plummeted even further when she'd learned that this year the mentors would be on stage during the post-Games interview. She just wanted to go home.

"Experience. Survival," Mattock grimly replied. "Shift your eyes, twist your mind around, whatever you do, look at reality from another angle. Staring at it front on, eye to eye, that will burn you until only ashes are left."

"Just don't twist it the way they do," Mags thought aloud, her eyes stinging from the unceasing camera flashes.

"Drinking works, and there's no need to pull a Rye," Bianca said with a muted snicker, her eyes bright from alcohol.

Marcus Flickerman's voice boomed in the theater. "A miner's boy, destined to break marble, gravel and clay every day until his back was bent and his lungs clogged with dust."

_Charming, _Mags thought, disgusted the host didn't even need to put on a pretense on national television. Capitolites would never see them as human.

"A boy with a dream. How does it feel to fulfill one's greatest ambitions, Mordred?"

"Fulfilled?" Mordred said, frowning. Behind the artful makeup, Mags could glimpse the exhaustion digging his face. "No, it's just beginning."

Flickerman smiled and leaned back attentively. "What would you say was your proudest accomplishment?"

"Staying in control," Mordred replied immediately, this time looking squarely at the host.

"Your less proud?"

"Killing Dove. The girl was out of her mind with fear long before we found her, and I should have made it quicker."

"Not running away from that little girl, Skye?"

Mordred's cheeks flushed red. He squared his jaw as he struggled to formulate an appropriate answer. "She would have killed me. Skye from Five was no hapless girl but a woman who craved victory as fiercely as I did. I played to win, there is no handshake with the losers in this game. She tried to goad me into a trap, I didn't let her." His eyes flickered to Mags, and a ghost of a smile twitched his lips. "I was taught better."

Mags returned his gaze this time and forced a smile on her face. Her advice to Mordred before the Games had been genuine despite his brusqueness, and while she'd rather have been standing where Roman was, holding Petrel's hand, she was glad she had helped someone survive, someone who was grateful for it.

"When did you know you would win?"

Mordred crossed his arms across his glistening chest, "I never doubted it."

Circe, he was a dreadful liar. But the Capitol saw only what it wanted to see and the cheers were as deafening as they were revolting.

"I told him to let the others think they had a chance out of fair play," Roman said, flushed with pride. "Mordred's a great learner," he added, clapping Mordred on the shoulders.

Mags' breath hitched. All the mentors stiffened as one.

_To touch a victor like this, so soon after his victory._

Oxygen rushed to Mags' brain as Mordred's arm shot out and wrapped itself around the reckless escort's neck.

_There would not be twenty-four dead._

Mags couldn't remember crossing the five yards separating her from the Career. She brought her palm up against Mordred's elbow, her back to the crowd in the hope they would not understand the whole import of her actions. Victors had to appear unbroken.

The young man gasped. His glazed eyes flew open in panicked realization.

"You're safe, you won, let go, now," Mags urged through clenched teeth. She moved away as soon as he dropped his arm.

Pale and trembling, it dawned on Roman how close he had come to a very public death. Mordred's grin was so forced Mags was certain she'd heard his skin crack.

"Tough love's the word in District Two, you don't want your peacekeepers to be sissies," he exclaimed, concealing his terror behind a forced joking tone.

All things considered, the audience had a very easy sense of humor, Mags thought cynically. Some men were slapping their thighs hard enough to bruise.

"Nice job, Roman, but now, he's ours," Vicuña said, wearing her black suit like a peacekeeper uniform. She saluted to the crowd, eliciting a roar of appreciation before locking eyes with Mordred and gesturing towards the exit, unmindful of the host's pointed glare.

"You're learning fast," she told Mags with a smile as Flickerman was forced to cheerfully announce the early end of the interview and the beginning of the last all-night party of the Games.

Mordred briefly pressed his forehead against the wall as soon as he was out of the camera's sight.

"Oil, Man?" Mattock said, staring at Mordred's sleeveless open jacket. "You should have told your stylist that self-esteem is actually still a word in the districts."

"I don't think we speak the same language. The words sound the same but they don't get things," Mordred muttered, wiping sweat off his shaved head. Everything in his movements was slow and stilted, betraying his unease. Mags knew he was seeing the tributes in each mentor's stead, just like she had a year before.

"Next time, say you're allergic and will get horrid red welts if they put it on. It worked for the latex bra," Bianca pointed out helpfully. "I'm calling this a night," she added with a delighted grin, "and tomorrow, I'll be home."

"Latex bra? On her?" Mordred whispered with a grimace as the oldest female victor disappeared with a smiling Mattock.

"She looks much better than last year," Vicuña said with a shrug. "She's still skinny and puffy and her hair's gross, but she's smiling instead of shrieking about the Fool, the Devil, the Leper…" Vicuña rolled her eyes. "It's a blessing, if I'd known she just needed to sleep with a girl to grow tolerable, I'd not have waited for Mags to come around."

Mordred's eyebrows shot upwards. He stared at Mags as if he'd never seen her before.

Mags shook her head, mystified by this middle-school version of Vicuña. "Okay, so you don't feel totally lost," she began, maybe a little snappishly, "the other victors do not like Vicuña, because they resent anything that has to do with the Games, find the concept of Careers morally wrong and consider that Vicuña has the empathy of an oyster."

Vicuña shot her a dark glare. Mags countered it was a thin smile. "But now that you won, Mordred, there are two of you, so Vicuña is going to be your very best friend. And no, it's not a trap to lure you into a false sense of safety and then avenge Onyx," she added when she saw Mordred's expression. His sudden pallor told her she had guessed right.

"I didn't touch Onyx, or Sable," he quickly added, "or Petrel, or –" Mordred winced as his voice trailed off.

"Valentia, her name was Valencia Gar," Mags supplied tightly.

"Are you happy you won?" Vicuña asked, a palpable urgency in her tone.

Mordred seemed to deflate. He sank on the sofa as soon as they reached Vicuña's quarters. "You have no idea," he said weakly, letting his thick arm fall to his sides. "It didn't go like I'd hoped, it was both less and more…"

"I know," Vicuña said with a strained smile. "Onyx was a good man, but I do not begrudge you your victory. I will lose many tributes, it's unavoidable, I simply want the victors to be whole or the Games mean nothing."

Mags' face softened as she spotted tears in the woman's blue eyes.

_Whole. _Such a noble ambition, and yet so frightening. _Had they a right to be whole after this? But being broken helped no one._

Mordred nodded, a frown creasing his brow as he thought. For the first time, he really looked eighteen. "Why did you send me medicine, Mags?"

_Because not doing so would have been cruel._

"There would have been questions had people seen your broken fingers. Avoxes might have been executed for letting you out of sight, or a trainer flogged."

"A _Capitol_ trainer."

Mags glowered. What a ridiculous rationale. "So? Getting them flogged will make the world a better place?"

Mordred cracked a genuine smile. "No." He sighed, stretching his arms. "I'm so happy I won."

Vicuña grinned and seeing the two of them like this almost made Mags forget all the dead bodies Mordred had left in his wake. _Almost._

"You broke his fingers?" Vicuña then said, her smile broadening. "Mags, for someone who is very careful not to be branded a Career, you sure don't do things by halves."

_When had Career become the only alternative to victim?_

"Someone needs to keep the victors united," Mags said, "no one will fix us if we don't fix each other. The tributes are doomed from the start, spending more time on them than on helping those who have a life to live and the potential to do so much with the money they have is ridiculous."

Vicuña slowly nodded, looking torn. A wry smile then drew itself on her lips. "Believe it or not, Mordred, but young Mags here is our own self-appointed mother."

Mags flushed. "I'm -"

"It was a compliment," Vicuña cut in, her smirk almost reaching her ears. "When I won, I received frosty glares as only greeting. Mattock and Bianca actually spoke kindly to Mordred, and it's because of you."

Mags lowered her eyes, remembering Petrel's smile the first time he received a package of food.

She wasn't feeling well.

She didn't want to ruin Vicuña's and Mordred's night. There was enough misery in the world without her adding to it.

"Every victor here has survived the tributes mentored by the previous ones," she said softly as she stood up, "just find your place, Mordred, and find it in your home district. Don't fool yourself, you're not all powerful, but play by the rules and you'll be fine."

The young man nodded, "Screwing up now would be like spitting on all the others graves. I won for a reason, I promise I won't forget."

Mags spared them a last glance. _Careers._ She didn't know what to make of them.

* * *

"I won't."

"Aw Mags, don't be –"

Mags spun on herself. "No, absolutely_ not_. I will not be wearing that, Myia. I'd rather don a bikini than these -"

There were no words to qualify the vulgar rags Myia was trying to pass off as fashionable.

"You can't wear the same dress for two weeks straight," the Capitol woman exclaimed.

"I can and I will. It's clean, comfortable and more elegant and feminine than all those jaggedly cut pieces of cloth a tramp would be ashamed to wear."

Myia gasped, hurt filling her huge violet eyes. "A homeless? Do you have any idea how expensive those clothes are?"

What Mags had was no idea as to how the shop owners managed to sell their stock.

"Keep them then," Mags said, grabbing the coat hangers and shoving them in Myia's arms. "Wear them. If you feel beautiful in them, wonderful. I probably am not evolved enough to appreciate the sophistication of such abused clothing," she said, her voice oozing sarcasm.

People, _children_, were dead, whole families were mourning. Mags' ability to compromise had died with Petrel. She could not even pretend to tolerate this superficial nonsense. How could lavish parties put on par with the monstrosity of the Hunger Games? She would put on a cordial face and attend, period.

Her aide put a concerned hand on her shoulder. "Mags," she said warily, "are you on your period? Do you want a hormonal treatment? It's light and very helpful."

Mags' lips parted open in sheer shock. _Premenstrual, was she?_

Lucian saved her from answering by knocking sharply on the door. "Cut down on the hysterics, ladies," he pointed to the living room. "The phone, for you."

"She's busy," Myia snapped.

Lucian gave her a condescending smile. "Mags won the Games, Miss Starr, she will have you weeping before she folds. Let her blue dress be her trademark look, no one wants a victor to be mistaken for a Capitolite."

"The phone?" Mags reminded him, eager for an escape. She hoped Myia would listen to Lucian on this.

"Yes," Lucian said, a shadow replacing his mocking expression. "It's the father of your favorite sponsor."

Plutarch's dad? Mags heart plummeted. She now felt very petty for making a scene about something as stupid as clothes.

She hurried to pick up. "Mr. Heavensbee? It's Mags."

A deep strained voice answered. "Mags, I apologize for the inconvenience, but you must come to talk to Plutarch tonight."

_Tonight? _

"I –"

"Miss, you can't possibly be that busy. My son hasn't eaten since Petrel died. He's barricaded himself in his room, he will not come out unless the President accepts to change the rules of the Hunger Games," the man's tone was thick with helpless fury. "We have tried everything, everything. He will listen to you, he must. He's never reacted like this to the Games."

He shouldn't even have been watching… Mags guessed that crushing a young child's fledgling sensitivity was easier than convincing a sensitive teenager of the fun in such bloody games.

The party-goers would have to start without her.

"I'll be there at seven," she promised.

"What?" Myia exclaimed. "Can't it wait for tomorrow? You can't leave, we have -."

"I'll be back by eleven at most, they'll cope," the victor snapped, her back to Myia as she searched for the Heavensbees' address on the screen.

Blessedly, the Capitol woman kept quiet.

"I won," Lucian muttered before taking his leave.

Mags turned around, only to see that Myia was crying silently.

Something deflated in her. "Take a break Myia," she said in soft tones, "I'll see you late tonight. Have fun, don't worry about me or my opinions, just go have fun."

"I'm useless aren't I," sobbed Myia. "I'm thirty-one, I can't keep a job, I'm single, Aunt Evadne assigned me to you out of pity, and just because it's so obvious you don't need anyone. I'll never make her proud and I've managed to make you hate me too."

_Where did that come from?_ Did Myia really think that making Mags have to comfort her in a moment like this would make her treat her more like an adult? She put her arm around the slender woman, not sure if it was from compassion or utter resignation.

"I don't hate you. I'm in a foul mood because Petrel and Valentia are dead," she said, _because they're all dead, and for nothing,_ not believing she had to spell it out. "Make a list of all the sponsors we had so we know who to contact next Games. That would be extremely useful, Myia. And also call me a cab, please."

The Capitol streets didn't feel safe anymore.

"Really? You're not just giving me this task to get me out of your feet?" Myia said, her hands twisting at her long azure hair like a nervous child.

Mags bit back a groan. "You think I don't take the Capitol's interest in the kids I hope to bring home seriously? Come on, Myia, this aide job is what you'll make of it. You can be a friendly distraction, or you can make yourself essential. You may get later a job organizing events if you learn to do it properly for me."

_Unbelievable_. Myia had never lacked of anything and yet her ditzy mind had managed to fabricate more insecurities and fears than any self-respecting woman in Four would ever admit to.

A wet smile greeted her proclamation. "That'd be terrific," Myia said, picking herself up. "Sorry, you must think I'm so silly."

_Oh yes, but there were much worse things than to be silly._

* * *

A pale woman with blue highlights and a frayed sleeveless dress opened the door before Mags had even left the elevator.

"Mrs. Heavensbee?" She guessed. The woman looked too young to be the mother of a nine years old, but the shimmering net of opal jewelry holding her hair up and adorning her bare shoulders was no servant's garb.

Mags was soon engulfed in suffocating hug. "Bless you, this is utterly mortifying but we've tried _everything_." The woman's voice broke. "We haven't seen him in _two days_. We were considering to call the homeguard to break the door."

Mags winced, hating to imagine Plutarch so distressed. "Must he not come out to use the facilities?"

Plutarch's mother painted eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She sniffed and shook her head. "He has an en-suite bathroom, toilets of his own attached to his room. He's an active and boisterous child, but never has he thrown a fit like this before."

_About time he started being upset about senseless murder_, a pitiless voice whispered at the back of Mags' mind.

"He refuses to leave his room until we accept to send his letter to president Achlys," Lamprias Heavensbee said, heavy bags under his eyes. "If it were anything else, I'd destroy the letter and lie, saying I had, but this…"

The heavyset man wrapped his arms around his wife as Mags unfolded the note.

_Most esteemed and honorable President Achlys,_

_The Games are evil. Petrel was strong and brave and deserved to win. Mordred is a big bully. I hate him. I hate the Games. I hate that everyone thinks they're great and makes a celebration. Petrel should have won. Please stop the Hunger Games and do something else. Something where children don't die and brave people like Petrel can win._

_Your servant,_

_Plutarch Heavensbee_

Mags shook her head as she finished reading. She was astounded by the lack of spelling mistakes and quite satisfied by the content. Unfortunately, she also saw the problem.

"I'll talk to him," she said. She lifted a hand when Lamprias made a move towards Plutarch's room. "Alone first, it will be better."

She would get Plutarch to eat and go back to school, but not in the way they wanted it, not at the cost of his empathy, not when it was so rare in the fortress city.

She stepped up a wooden flight of stairs into an illuminated corridor. A white door barred her left side.

Mags couldn't help a wry smile at the inscription surrounded by drawings of swords and monsters.

_Plutarch's Very Private Property. Knock before entering and then wait for permission or die a slow and excruciatingly painful death!_

Her knuckles rapped against the door, met only by silence. She tried opening the handle, but something blocked it from the other side.

"I don't want to see anyone until you send the letter," Plutarch called. "I'm_ not_ hungry."

Mags winced at the exhaustion in that stubborn voice. Far from disapproving of Plutarch's one-man rebellion, she had to convince him his energy could be better spent.

She knocked once more. "Plutarch? It's Mags."

A silence. "Mags?"

She picked up the untouched juice bottle and bowl of biscuits besides the door. "Open up, we'll talk, alone. Your parents are downstairs."

The creak of wood against wood reached Mags ears and soon a mop of raven hair and a single blue eye appeared behind the ajar door.

"Come in," Plutarch whispered before pushing his bed back against the door. His eyes lit up at the sight of the food. He grabbed the bowl with both hands and stuffed a cookie in his mouth. "I knew it was there," he said, "but I knew they were waiting for me to grab it to force me out." He gestured at his full mouth in apology as crumbs spilled from it.

"M'so hungwy," he mumbled.

"Finish calmly, we've got time," Mags said, her eyes roaming curiously over his room.

Books and toys alike lay across the floor and the sofa, but their considerable number was not enough to fill the spacious bedroom. Majestic predators of all kinds covered the walls, their prideful eyes burning into any watcher's. A lone black and white tiger roamed silently on the muted ten-foot television screen. Mags winced when she saw a picture of herself right next to Plutarch's bed.

Right next to Petrel's sponsor portrait.

Plutarch followed her sad gaze.

He let himself fall on the bundled covers. "What did you buy with my money?" he said, embracing a ram toy worn raw by too many hugs.

Mags sat next to him, her arm around his shoulders. She swallowed when he put his head in her lap. "Remember the long dagger?

Plutarch nodded fractionally. "He didn't get to use it much, but at least it looked cool… I paid for that?"

Mags hesitated. "In part," she admitted, "it took also some other sponsors."

"My money was only a part of a small thing?" Plutarch's strangled words twisted at Mags' heart. "_All my money_?" He whispered.

Mags felt terrible as she stroked his hair. She should have refused to let him sponsor. "You helped more than many adult sponsors," she lied. "Everything is more expensive in the Games."

Plutarch jumped to his feet, his cheeks flushed as he grimaced to keep his tears in. "So spending all my money was even more useless that I thought?" He exclaimed, his voice trembling. "Why couldn't you save Petrel? Is Mordred's mentor a big bully too? Do you want me to call the homeguard? I know some, they'll protect you."

A small bitter smile cracked Mags' lips. She was about to destroy a childhood in order to save a man, to save a potential the Capitol would be so eager to squash.

"Plutarch, speaking out against the Games will get you punished and so will your parents, and maybe even _me_. The Games keep the districts tame, and saying you don't like the Games is saying you want Capitolites to die killed by barbarian district dwellers."

Plutarch's face grew a deep shade of purple. "You're not a barbarian. That's why you won, because you were good! Petrel was good! He should have won! The Gamemakers are so crap, they should be thrown to the crocodiles and eaten!"

Mags' hooded green eyes crinkled despite herself. Esperanza threatened to throw her enemies to the sharks when she'd been Plutarch's age.

The child seemed unable to stop, kicking the nearest toys in rage. "Mordred's escort cheated. The rocket was cheating! He's a cheat, he should be _banned_. People like him can't be allowed in the Games, it's not fair." Plutarch froze, his face set in furious concentration. He lowered his voice. "They don't like it, the tributes. Petrel didn't look happy at all during the interviews. I don't know why people don't see it."

_Because those who aren't vengeful veterans are not looking for it, because everyone is quick to correct those who start suspecting something is wrong until the illusion is perfect again. _

Mags grasped Plutarch tightly and pulled him on her lap before he hurt himself.

"Plutarch, stop shouting and listen to me, it's important," she said, her lips inches from his face. Circe he was heavy. Heavier and broader than Petrel had been.

Plutarch sniffed but straightened attentively.

"You're allowed to be angry to have lost your money, but never publicly say that the Games should be abolished or that they're wrong. The President, the peacekeepers, the homeguard, they wouldn't like that at all. Your friends could speak to their parents, and you could be severely punished. Even if they mean well, you can't say things like that, even to children you like."

"They could think I'm an enemy of the people?" Plutarch said, his lips trembling.

The eighteen year old nodded, wondering for the first time how punishment and censorship affected those most privileged. The terror in Plutarch's blue eyes was too real for it to be just the conviction in Mags' tone.

"People become stupid when they're afraid. They could hate you, _hurt_ you. It's important, Plutarch." Mags cradled him more tightly. "It's also important not to forget Petrel," she whispered, painfully aware she was playing with fire and that she was not the only one who could get burned, but she couldn't allow Plutarch's conscience to shrivel like so many Capitolites' had.

Plutarch nodded, looking wiser than his nine years. "I promise. Can you tell me about him? He was your tribute, you knew him right?"

Mags dropped her eyes, unable to hold the boy's pleading stare. She remembered another time, one where she'd been the one craving stories to escape. She wondered if her cousin Freya, so brave and strong in her memories and yet younger when she had died on the reefs than Mags was now, had felt so helpless in the face of such naked trust and desperate need.

"Of course," she lied.

It wasn't so hard to invent a story about the youngest members of a cargo vessel, an elfin little boy and his blue eyed best friend, to spin a tale of storms and saving people lost at sea. She was certain Petrel was the kind of boy who would have snuck up to the tallest mast to glimpse the dolphins swimming in the clean waters. She added a loving but misguided brother and a widowed father grown old from too hard work out of respect for Petrel's living relatives, but mostly it was Petrel and his friend, braving the ocean, two noble spirits in a hostile world.

Plutarch's eyes were glued to her lips, like a man dying of thirst brought next to a waterfall.

Mags had then been too young to suspect that the girl with golden-brown hair in each of her cousin's 'true stories' was a ploy to make her feel safe and heroic during the harsh rebellion._ Freya Peregrine. So many people Mags had never had the chance to truly know and appreciate._

She stood up when Plutarch had once more promised to hide his hate of the Games, even from his best friend. He agreed to unblock his door when she had signed the picture of her on the wall.

"He ate all the cookies. He'll come out soon and has understood the letter cannot be sent. Let him grieve at his pace, he's a smart kid."

Plutarch's mother looked like she would faint. "Thank you so much, Sweetheart. We are in your debt, don't hesitate to ever ask."

"I'll remember," Mags said curtly. _She would indeed_. "Take care of him."

* * *

Myia was waiting in the victor's quarters. "Auntie wants to see you." She hiccuped and blushed. "I had fun," she said, hiding her mouth with her manicured hand. "I shouldn't have drunk, but it was fun. You were right."

Mags flashed her a grin. "I'm happy for you. I'll better not make the President wait."

_Achlys wouldn't punish her for a missed party._ _The party wasn't even over, she could go afterwards. _The thought played a loop in Mags' mind, losing some of its conviction with every passing second.

"You were missed at the festivities," the President said in greeting, her voice mild.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, I had to deal with one of my younger sponsors," Mags clasped her hands before her, trying not to fidget. 'I would suggest not to let children sponsor, Madam President. They're sensitive and some may not be as reasonable as young Plutarch."

Mags started as a sharp breath exited the President's mouth.

"Of course children cannot sponsor," Achlys exclaimed lifting her arms skywards. "Degenerate parents… I placed the limit at ten for a reason. No minor should be able to place official bets either." Achlys shook her head. "They all do it, it's endemic. I can't lock them all up," she said, the tightness in her eyes revealing that she may yet try to prove herself wrong. "We'll have to organize activities for children during Games viewing hours," she decided.

Mags stared, too stunned by the sheer common sense behind this decision to be able to conceal her shock. She sometimes forgot that the President prized order over cruelty and that they didn't always go hand in hand.

Achlys' face relaxed and she gave Mags a small smile. "New rules… The sponsoring ones themselves will fill a book." She turned her eyes to the city beyond the large windows. "Disabled teenagers who are mentally younger than ten years of age are not eligible for the Games or tesserae anymore. Peacekeepers will confirm the doctor's diagnosis. Attempted fraud will see the family of the child, the child and the doctor either flogged, avoxed or executed."

Mags blinked. "It sounds appropriate," she said, freezing her muscles into what she hoped was an appraising expression. She had practiced lying though her teeth often enough with her mother in the past six months to be confident that she wasn't too far off mark.

_No tesserae for the mentally disabled?_ The young woman from Four fought the urge to grit her teeth. Maris' orphanage would soon foster even more of those unlucky children. Even parents with big hearts would not endanger their healthy offspring to feed those that would never be productive.

"Good." A soft sigh escaped Achlys' lips. "Mags…"

Mags hated how her chest constricted and her throat dried whenever that woman spoke to her, how that voice of steel reduced her to a trembling child, unprepared and unarmed, all too eager to follow orders. It was even worse when Achlys simply _stared._ Her golden eyes seemed to see through her carefully crafted mask and leaf through her darkest secrets.

Had the Capitol found a way to read thoughts? Sweat pearled on Mags' forehead. She itched to push sticky hair out of her eyes, to move and shift her balance, but she was rooted on the spot.

"Why are you so afraid of me?" The woman asked in soft tones. "Everything you have done has benefited the Capitol and your District. You've even managed to tolerate my niece. I do not understand."

Mags couldn't help it. She laughed. A choked, weak chuckle followed by hysterical giggles, bursting from her lips until her lungs screamed for air.

_This was surreal, it had to be a trap._

"Madam, you can order my execution, the death of anyone I care about, on a whim. You would not punish on a whim," Mags hastily added, painfully aware she was digging a snug hole for herself and yet that she had to answer _something,_ "but there are considerations that surpass individuals when ruling a country, and if you decide that my money and skills are needed in District Twelve rather than Four or if the Capitol decides they want to see the victors' siblings reaped in the Games and are disposed to all sponsor huge sums for it–" Mags clamped her mouth shut, suddenly furious at herself.

She'd vowed not to go to see Achlys when she was tired. Plutarch had exhausted her. What was she doing here? She would blab to her death.

Seconds passed and the white-haired woman seemed content to let Mags order her thoughts in case she had more to add, unawares that the oppressive silence lead Mags' treacherous mind to beg for the illusory shield given by a river of words. Unable to hold Achlys' burning gaze, Mags' eyes focused on the President's elaborate earrings, determined not to give in.

Regal and terrifying, the absolute ruler of Panem finally spoke. "I appreciate people who know their place."

Mags almost wept in relief.

"Child, as long as you are one of the main pacifying forces in Four, even in the preposterous event that I would foster the city's primal thirst for blood and drama with such a distasteful twist, it would not be _your_ sibling."

_Such charming logic, and the woman wondered why Mags was terrified?_

The victor forced a wan smile. "I'll be useful," she promised. Part of Achlys' answer was much too loaded to ignore. "The primal thirst for blood and drama…" Mags tentatively said.

Achlys' lips twisted in scorn. "The Games initially had nothing to do with the Capitol and all to do with the Districts. The rest is collateral effects we must exploit for the good of Panem. Human nature is what it is."

Mags frowned, a chilling suspicion entering her mind. _Reaping siblings of victors would be a distasteful twist because District families would be safe and would stop thinking about the Games and focus on other problems? _

With Evadne Achlys, Mags never knew if she was being paranoid or much too confident.

"You'll be leaving tomorrow at dawn."

Mags perked up, but her sudden good mood was dampened by a burst of suspicion. "There's a catch," she blurted.

Her outburst earned her a tight nod. "Unrest in Creneis, directly related to your Academy's building."

Mags paled, remembering Valentia's foreboding words on Genny and Calder.

_"Mags, I don't know. I just know something's on.." Valentia shrugged. "I don't think they can do much, but..."_

_What had happened? Had someone been hurt? Were the peacekeepers involved? Was Marquise alright?_

"I do not want to break Four's working population to get the minority of hooligans to fall in line, but evidently what works in other districts is not working there. Terror is bad for productivity, but the facts reveal I am being too lenient in District Four."

"A peacekeeper training center will soon open in Galene, and the population is thrilled," Mags hastily said, wanting to show it was not all bad.

_She needed more time._

Like a satiated cat magnanimously letting a mouse scurry before its eyes, the white-haired woman granted Mags a small smile. "Indeed, and your actions there were exactly why I extended your victory tour. Either you get the rest of Four to cooperate or I will. I'm getting too old for such stupidity." The President's face softened. "I know you're doing your best, Mags, but intention is worth little if the results are unsatisfactory. I sometimes fear I work with greater idiots that the illiterate peasants you must compose with, and _my_ people go to university."

Mags blinked, unable to comprehend why the woman was telling her that. The possible reason was so baffling that the victor's mind came to a halt. "You like me?"

Achlys' golden eyes flew open and she laughed. A genuine open laugh. "Why shouldn't I?" She said with a smile. "Go get ready for tomorrow, you'll need your wits." The President's red lips twisted. "You're one of the very few victors with wits left…"

Mags still couldn't believe her ears as she politely took her leave.

_Something was terribly wrong with this universe. Achlys _liked _her._

At least she wouldn't have to attend that accursed party.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed my not so subtle foreshadowing of Plutarch becoming a rebel.^^** Please review.**


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